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The Paranormal Journal of Ezekiel Kincaid Entry 3: Brandon

I had just settled down for the night with a good book and a bottle of whiskey. The paperback I was reading was from 1987–C. Dean Anderson’s Torture Tomb. The cover had appealed to me so I snatched it up at a thrift store. I nestled into my recliner, flipped it open to the beginning, and started reading. 

Then there was a knock on my door. 

“Unbelievable. Every freaking time.” I grabbed my phone off the stand next to me. “Ten thirty at night?” I always kept my Glock 19 with me so I swiped it off the stand and pulled on the slide, easing a bullet into the chamber. 

I rolled out of my chair and crept to the door. 

There  was a knock again. 

I turned the deadbolt then got in a shooting stance. “Come in,” I said. “It’s open.” 

The knob turned and I moved my finger to the trigger. 

The door opened and I recognized the face. I wanted to pull the trigger. Not out of fear or a threat, but out of anger. 

“Mr. Kincaid,” the man said. “You have to stop. I’m begging you. I can’t take it anymore.”

The man was Brandon. He looked like crap. His complexion was pale and he had a bruise on his cheek. He wore a gray, stained sweat suit and was clutching at his stomach. 

“You got about two seconds to turn around before I either put a bullet in your knee cap or smash your teeth out with the butt of my gun. I haven’t decided which yet.” 

Brandon’s eyes bulged then grew wet with tears. His lips trembled and he stammered. “Ppppplease. Mr. Kincaid. You have to stop. I can’t–” He hung his head and sobbed. 

I lowered my gun. “Stop? Stop?” I let out a mocking laugh. “You think I am going to stop? After you pulled a gun on your own wife? My little sister? Whom I love with all my heart? And after you threatened to throw your own kid out a window? Oh no, Brandon. I won’t ever stop till I cripple you.” 

Brandon sobbed harder.

“You know what your problem is Brandon,” I asked.

He responded with more tears.

“You are a coward. You’re an abusive bully who cries and throws temper tantrums because he doesn’t get his way. And you won’t ever quit.”

Brandon lifted his head and gazed into my eyes. He knew I was right. 

“I see everything you do. I know when you try to hurt her or threaten her. I saw what you tried to do today and I shut it down didn’t I? That box that flew across the room and knocked you out, leaving that bruise on your face? That was me.” I raised my gun again. 

“I know,” he mumbled. 

“Now, Brandon. You want me to stop? Then you leave. You get as far away from them as possible. You do that and I will stop. But if you stay? And if you ever, and I mean ever, so much as raise your voice at her or touch your kids in a threatening way, I will finish what I started today.” 

Brandon looked down at the ground and gave a slow, almost lifeless nod. 

“Now, get out of here. I was trying to read a book.” I slammed the door in his face then went and sat back down in my chair. I set my gun back on the nightstand and picked up my voice recorder. I turned it on and hit ‘record’. 

“Telekinesis,” I said. “It is a real and powerful phenomena. It can be dangerous, but I promise I will only use it to protect the ones I love.” 

I hit stop and set the recorder down. I uncorked the whiskey and took a swing straight from the bottle. I leaned up and placed it at the foot of my recliner. I picked up my paperback and read for the rest of the night.

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The Paranormal Journal of Ezekiel Kincaid Entry 4: Rachel’s Circle

I’ve learned not to question when the dead come to me. Now, I welcome them and listen to
their tales. One such visitor was a young girl named Rachel. She wouldn’t tell me her last name, but she
did tell me what happened to her.
“Mr. Kincaid.”
I was taken out of my world of writing by a soft, sweet voice.
“Yes,” I was sitting on my bed with my computer in my lap. I glanced away from the screen and
saw her.
A young girl stood at the edge of my bed. She had short black hair, a pale complexion, and sleek
features. She looked to be around nineteen years old. She was soaking wet and naked. She covered her
chest with her arms and water dripped from her hair and body and puddled on my floor. She shivered
from the cold and swamp grass draped her skin in places. She smelled like the bayou—the bayou and
rot.
“I’m cold,” she said and chattered her teeth.
I studied the girl. Her lips were cracked and purple. “Come on,” I said and motioned with my
head. I pulled back the blanket.
The girl crawled in and covered herself. She curled up in a ball next to me and stared up with
green, solemn eyes.
“My name’s Rachel,” she said then swallowed. Her throat made a crackling sound. “And I need
your help.”
“Why?”
“I’m alone and afraid here.” Rachel sat up in the bed and wrapped the covers around her. “I—I
guess I should tell you what happened. Or, show you rather.” Rachel held out her hand to me, palm
upwards.

I lifted my hand from the keyboard in a slow, steady motion and placed it in hers. Rachel’s skin
was cold, wet, and clammy. I closed my eyes and was taken deep into a Louisiana swamp. I saw Rachel
kneeling in the middle of a protective circle she had drawn around herself with a knife in her hand. Her
voice narrated.
“I was being groomed to be a blood thorn witch. I was accepted into a coven and was taught the
old and ancient ways.”
Her naked body swayed, and a gentle breeze rippled her hair.
“I had already sliced my hand and given my blood to the keepers of the forest world. I had
studied Grimore and thought I could handle it.”
An owl screeched and landed on a branch above Rachel.
“A presence appeared in the circle. It was dark and menacing. It gave a low growl.
I saw an entity standing in the circle with Rachel. I had seen him and dealt with him many times
before. He was tall and skinny with red hair and pointy features. He wore a black suit and sunglasses. He
was a Leviathan demon and he goes by the name “The Philistine”.
“I gave myself to the god and goddess.”
I knew who they were. This god and goddess were just Leviathan and Lilith.
“The old ways either lead to madness, death, or a great poetic spirit. I think you can guess what
happened to me. I realized in those moments the circle of protection doesn’t work when you’ve already
invited it in.”
I saw Rachel take the blade of the knife and slice both her arms from wrist to forearm. The
copper scent of her warm blood filled the forest and she toppled to the ground. The Philistine stood
over her then he turned and saw me.
His features contorted and he grew angry. “You can’t help her,” he said. “I got to her first.” He
smirked then scooped Rachel’s body up and walked towards the swamp.
Rachel let go of my hand and I opened my eyes. She stared deep into me.
“I couldn’t find the light of God in life. Can you help me find it in death?” Rachel gazed at me
with a face pleading for hope.
I reached and grabbed my Bible off the floor and opened it to John chapter 1. I read to her. “In
the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the
beginning with God. All things were made through him, and without him was not anything made. In him
was life, and this life was the light of me. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not
overcome it.”
“Thank you,” Rachel smiled. She held out her arms, showed me her scars, then faded away.

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The Paranormal Journal of Ezekiel Kincaid Entry 5: James and Alice

Interruptions.

They are a part of life but I still haven’t grown accustomed to them. In fact, I hate them so much I stopped taking walk-ins years ago…

It was a Tuesday morning and I had just poured a fresh cup of coffee. The aroma was rising in my nose as my computer booted up for the day. I was about to sit down and work on putting the final touches on the first draft of Johnny Walker Ranger: Demon Slayer, Vol. 2. I didn’t even get to sit my butt in the chair when the doorbell rang.

“I moved outta neighborhoods cause of crap like this.” I glanced at the bottom left of the computer screen. It was 7:59 a.m. “Better be Girl Scout cookies.” I placed my mug next to my computer and walked towards the door.

I turned the knob and pulled. The sunlight danced across my night-laden eyes and I squinted. I raised a hand over my forehead to shield my face from the light. I blinked a few times to focus on the shadowy figures standing before me. They came into view and I saw a man and woman around my age.

The man stood with his hands crossed in front of him. He was lanky, had scraggly facial hair and donned tattered jeans and red Dr. Pepper shirt. The lady had short brown hair with round features. She was wearing a white tank top and cut-off jean shorts.

I eyed them up and down. “Look, a homeless man and a hooker.” I motioned at the guy with my head. “Good thing you’re not an add for Dr. Pepper, cause if you were, I’d never drink the stuff.” I started to close the door.

The lady thrust her foot forward and stopped the door.

“Mr. Kincaid, please,” the man said and placed his hand on the lady’s shoulder.

“I don’t do walk-ins. Hold on, let me get my secretary so you can make an appointment.” I peeked over my shoulder. “Hey, Janet!” I paused for a moment then looked back at them. “She must be out. Sorry, you’ll have to reschedule—never.”

“Please!” The man raised his voice. His eyes rounded and a look of desperation flowed over him. His lip quivered. “I’m a friend of Trisha’s.”

The name punched me in the gut.

Trisha.

She came to me on a whim. She was having nightmares about an entity with the head of a goat skull, body of a feline, and tail of a serpent. To make a long story I short, I used my ability to save her from being cult stew.

I narrowed my eyes and glared at them for a few moments. “Fine.” I eased off the door. “You got five minutes to make sense or you’re gone.”

“Thank you,” the man nodded and came in.

“Stubborn jackass,” the woman said then walked over the threshold.

“Don’t mention it, Roxanne,” I huffed.

“I hate that song!” She snapped back.

“Who hates that song?” I snickered.

I stepped in front of them and made my way into the kitchen and arrived at the coffee pot. “Anyone want some? I just put it on.”

“Yes,” the man said. “We would both like a cup.” He gave the woman a brazen glare.

“We would.” The woman’s voice was flat, monotone.

The couple moved toward my table. He pulled the chair out for her and let her sit. He took his place next to her.

I poured them each a cup of coffee and placed it before them on the table.

“Thank you,” the man said and took a sip as the steam snaked around his face.

I pulled out a chair from the table, turned it around, and sat down with my arms draping over the back. “Your five minutes start now.”

“My name is James,” the man said. “This is my wife, Alice.”

I acknowledge them with a nod.

“You helped Trisha, and now I need you to help my wife,” James said.

I glared at the woman as she wrapped her lips around the cup. “Someone looks like they think I’m a fake.”

“Excuse me,” the woman strutted her head back like a turkey.

“Yeah. I seen that look a thousand times,” I said.

Alice wrapped her hands around the mug and glanced down, her eyes heavy. “I—I do have a hard time believing any of this.”

I leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms. “Number one, its early and I don’t like morning interruptions. Number two, its early and I don’t like morning interruptions. And three, I don’t like interruptions so get on with it. You either want my help or not.”

“My wife has lost something very important to her,” James said.

I rolled my neck then rubbed the back of it. “Dear Lord, please?” I lifted my eyes while my head was lowered. “I’m not a psychic lost and found. Get out.” I waved my hands at them.

“Told you he was a fake,” Alice said and pushed her cup away.

James gripped her wrist. “Just wait.”

“If I was a smoker, I would light one up right now,” I said. “The mood calls for it.” I placed my forearms on the table and interlocked my fingers. I breathed in deep and exhaled. I could hear the ringing of my computer as updates and messages dinged off. I shot a glance over at it then returned my eyes to my audience. “People usually call me a fake to try and manipulate me to do what they want. Doesn’t work on me. If you think I am a fake or a circus side show, you can drag your ass out the same way you came in. We are done.”

I stood up from the table and kicked my chair back. “You want a prediction? You both will die one day. How’s that?”

Alice placed the back of her hand over her mouth and gasped. James hung his head.

“Alice, stop.” James lifted his eyes to me. “She doesn’t mean it.” He glared at Alice. “Tell him.”

Alice placed her hands on the table and cleared her throat. “I am sorry I offended you.” She wouldn’t look at me. “Please, I need your help.”

I grabbed the back of my chair, lifted it, then slammed it down and scooched it toward the table. “Fine.” I sat down.

“Tell him why you are here, babe.” James set his cup down on the table.

Alice adjusted in her seat. “Someone very close to me—well who used to be very close to me—gave me something when we were young. Two white stones.”

“Who gave them to you?” I asked.

“My younger sister, Rachel. I was eight and she was five when she gave them to me. I carried them everywhere. They were special because she used her own money to buy them then gave them to me as a birthday present.” Alice teared up. “She died fifteen years ago in a car accident. Since then I have been looking for those stones and can’t find them.” Alice wiped her eyes. “So, Mr. Kincaid, I need to find them. They are all I have to remember her by.”

I gave a slow nod. My heart was moved with compassion and I all the sudden wasn’t annoyed by her anymore. I stretched out my hands across the table. “Let me see your hands, Alice.”

Alice was hesitant. She looked to James for assurance and his expression told her it was all right. Alice placed her hands in mine.

“First, I am going to prove I am not a fake.” I closed my eyes. “I am searching your memories.”

Alice gave a slight twitch when I started.

“I see—your childhood.” My countenance fell. “So much pain and sadness.”

Alice let out a soft whimper.

“Someone. They threw things at you. A red thermos.”

Alice went to speak but I cut her off.

“No. I’m confusion two things. I see a red ball, two black eyes, and a thermos—”

“Lock.” Alice said.

“Yes.” I nodded.

We opened are eyes and gazed at one another.

“I was bullied bad. From elementary through high school.” Alice began to cry. “The bullies—”

“Shayna, Julie, and Amanda,” I said.

Alice pulled her hand away from mine and placed it over her lip. Her fingers trembled. “How did you—”

“Tell me what happened.” I held her other hand tight.

“One day at P.E.,” she swallowed. “They cornered me with those red rubber balls you use for dodge ball. Then they pelted me with them. Shayna hit me right in the nose and blackened both my eyes.”

“What about the locks?” I asked

Alice closed her eyes and bit her lips. “When I would run up or down the stairs in the hall. The kids would throw locks at me. The brand was thermos.”

“Dear Lord,” I said and shook my head. I stared at her with mixed emotions. Part of me felt sorry for her and the other part of me wanted to track those people down and shove the locks into every open cavity of their body. “Give me your other hand. I need to keep searching.”

Alice reached so I took hold of her hand. Her fingers and palms had grown clammy.

I searched her memories again. “You’re one constant was your teddy bear, Clark.”

Alice teared up again. “Yes.’

Then I was in deep. Her memories were flashing before me. “Alice. I see you as a child. You are in the woods. You are burying your toys.” Then my voice changed. It was that of Alice when she was a little girl. “It’s okay, no one will find you here. You are safe.” My voice returned to normal. “Alice, what is this?” I opened my eyes.

Alice’s body shook as she sobbed. “How did you know I buried my toys? I have never told anyone that. Not my mother. Not my sister. Not even James. I had forgotten.” The look on Alice’s face was one of amazement and sorrow. “I am so sorry I doubted you.”

I held out my hand to stop her. “Why did you bury your toys?” I asked.

“Because the kids. The bullies. They would steal my toys or destroy them. So, I started to bury them.” Alice said.

I closed my eyes again. “I saw young Alice again in the woods next to her buried toys. “I see you holding two white stones. You buried them with your toys.”

Alice jerked her hands from mine and placed them over her mouth. “My God. I did! I remember! I buried them there because Shayna tried to steal them from me at school one day.”

“There still there.” I told her. “Do you remember where the place is?”

Alice nodded. “I do. My mother still lives in the same house I grew up in. I remember the stop between the two trees.”

I looked at Alice then at James. “Take her there. She will find the stones.” I stood up from the table.

James reached across to shake my hand. “Thank you,’ he said. His eyes were wide, and his face beamed with thankfulness.

I clasped his hand. “Glad I could help.”

Alice ran and gave me a hug. “Please forgive me for doubting. Thank you so much.”

I pulled her away and smiled. “Don’t thank me yet. You haven’t been to see if they really are there.”

“Oh, they are.” She gave me a half smile. “I remember it clearly now.”

I saw the couple to the door and gave James my number. “Call me if she finds it.”

“Will do,” He took the slip of paper with my cell number.

We said our goodbyes and I returned to my computer to work on Johnny Walker Ranger: Demon Slayer, Vol. 2.

Four hours later my phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Kincaid, it’s James.”

“Yeah, hey James.”

“Alice found the stones right where you said they would be.”

“Good,” I smiled. “Glad she found them.”

“Thank you again.”

“You’re welcome.”

I hung up the phone and kept writing.

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The Rougarou: A Fictional Story About Louisiana Folklore

Houma, Louisiana, July, 1985

Tara Stillman shouldered her black Guess purse, closed the door to her brown Pinto, and bent down to the side mirror to check her make up. She stood up, tucked her straight blonde hair behind her ears, and walked around the front of the car. Tara was a junior at Ellender Memorial, and she scored a baby-sitting job with the Miller’s this past year.

Mr. Miller worked for her dad, Don, who married Sandy Lockhorn back in 1964. A year later, he started a contracting business called Stillman’s Quality Painting and Contracting. He hired Tim Miller on as a project manager back in April of ‘84, and the two hit it off pretty well. Tim and his wife, Diana, wanted to start going out a little more, you know, rekindle the ole flame, so they were in need of a sitter for their seven-year-old son, Eddie. Don volunteered Tara, and the rest as they say, was history. Tara likes the gig okay. It’s nice to have some money in her pocket, even though little Eddie can be a real snot at times.

She walked down the brick sidewalk and up the wooden steps of the dark stained porch and knocked on the door. She heard the pattering of little feet on the wood floor, as Eddie scurried to answer the door. She could hear him fiddling with the lock, which he was finally able to turn over. The door opened and a boy with a flat top and two missing front teeth was there to greet her.

“Tara!” Eddie ran and gave her left leg a tight embrace.

Eddie was always excited to see her–at first anyway. Then after a while, he would descend into his cave of brattiness and not climb out till morning.

One time, Tara decided to do the whole “breakfast for dinner” thing and made Eddie pancakes. When she was done serving him his food, she walked out to go to the bathroom. When she returned about 3 minutes later, there was Eddie, standing on the kitchen island with a bottle of empty syrup. Its content was dripping from the ceiling. Eddie had wanted to see how far it would squirt out the bottle, and he thought the ceiling would be a good target. When Mr. and Mrs. Miller got home later that night, Tara told them what had happened. They assured her they would deal with it–yeah, right. Then there was this other time that Tara walked away from her glass of sweet tea. Eddie saw his opportunity. He poured baking soda in it and waited for her reaction.

“Hey bud!” Tara rubbed his head like she was petting a dog. “Where’s your mom and dad?”

“Tara? That you?” She could hear Mr. Miller from the kitchen.

“Yessir, its me.”

Eddie let go of her leg and ran to the kitchen. Tara followed, walking through the dining room to her left, and through to the kitchen to the right. Mr. Miller was there by the fridge, sucking down a Budweiser before they hit the road. He was a ruddy looking man with a nice tan and head full of brown curls.  

Mrs. Miller was at the sink, loading the last of the dirty dishes into the dishwasher. Tara always thought Mrs. Miller was very pretty. She had strawberry blonde hair that seemed to wave at you when she walked. Her complexion was a little on the fair side, but her blue eyes were her most striking feature.

“Hey, honey.” Mrs. Miller reached for a dishtowel that was hanging on the oven handle, dried her hands, and gave Tara a hug. “I’ve got some spaghetti in a pot there on the stove for when y’all get hungry. We should be back around 10:30 or 11”

Tara looked at her watch. It was 5:52 p.m.

“Also, Mr. and Mrs. Walker are home this evening, so if you need anything, just walk next door and ask.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Oh, and bedtime is 8:30’ Mr. Miller interjected.

Tara has been sitting for the Miller’s for just over a year now. She knows the routine, but they still deem it necessary to spell it out for her. She guessed it’s just what parents did. Made them feel better about leaving their kids behind while they go off.

“Yessir.”

“Thanks, dear.” Mrs. Miller gave her a smile.

“You two run along. Don’t want y’all being late. We’ll have fun as always.” Tara smiled back.

Mr. Miller escorted his wife by the arm and out of the kitchen. Tara heard the door open and shut, and she could hear the sound of their voices flutter off into the distance.

That evening her and Eddie played basketball, He-Man, and watched an episode of the Twilight Zone. 8:30 rolled around and Tara proceeded to get Eddie ready for bed. Eddie wasn’t having it. He started to get into one of his little snotty moods.

“Eddie, you need to go brush your teeth. It’s 8:30. Time for bed.” Tara got off the couch, walked over to the television, and switched it off.

Eddie, who was sitting on the floor about three feet away from the television, started to mount his protest. “But I’m not tired! Please let me stay up and watch the next episode. I won’t tell mom or dad, honest to goodness.” It was more like “honeth to goodneth” with his missing front teeth.” Eddie peered up at her and gave his best puppy dog eyes.

“No way, kiddo. I like the money I get for this gig.” Tara held out her hands to help him up. Eddie scooted on his booty, turned away from her, and crossed his arms.

“You’re mean. A mean buttface poo poo head.”

“Eddie, let’s not end tonight on a bad note.” Tara held out her arms again.

“Buttface poo poo head! Buttface poo poo head!” He chanted it over and over, and louder and louder.

“Okay, we will do this the hard way.” Tara grabbed Eddie and threw him over her shoulder. He kicked and screamed and flailed, all the while continuing his chant of “Buttface poo poo head.” Tara walked out of the living room, into the hallway, and then turned and headed up the stairs.

“Are you ready to walk up the stairs on your own ,or do I have to carry you like a baby.”

“Buttface poo poo head!”

“Okay, like a baby.”

Tara lugged him up the stairs and into his bathroom. She set him down on bathroom counter next to the sink. “Are you ready to do the right thing and brush your teeth?”

Eddie blew a raspberry and splattered spit all over Tara’s face.

“That’s it, you little monster. I’m going to tell your mom and dad.”

Eddie grabbed the tube of toothpaste next to him, which was uncapped, and squeezed, hard. Toothpaste shot out of the tube in a blue snake, and slithered its way into Tara’s neck and hair.

“You freaking little brat,” she gasped. “I’m gonna bend you over my knee!”

“Do it and I’ll tell.” Eddie stuck out his tongue.

Tara stepped away from Eddie and whipped a towel off the rack by the bathtub. She wet the towel in the sink and began to wipe the blue goo off of her.

Eddie sat there on the counter, arms crossed and head down. She glared at him so hard, Eddie swore her eyes were burning holes in him.

“I hope your dad belts you so hard that you butt blisters and you can’t sit down and take a crap for a week.” Tara worked some of the toothpaste out of her hair.

Eddie let out a rebellious humf.

“Better yet,” Tara paused. “I hope the Rougarou gets you.”

Eddie’s head popped up like a jack-in-the box.

“Roog a what?”

“Rou-ga-rou.”

“What’s a Roo-ga-roo?” Eddie scrunched his brow.

“You mean your momma and daddy haven’t told you about the Rougarou? Oh, you of all the little boys in this town should hear about the Rougarou.” Tara eased her way over to the counter where Eddie sat. She placed both hands out beside his, leaned in close and looked him dead in the eyes.

“The Rougarou is the dog of death. He’s pale white in color, and wanders the streets of small towns like this one, looking for someone to deliver him from his wretched curse. Once he picks you out, he will torment you until you kill him.”

“Ohhhh scary.” Eddie rolled his eyes and a sarcastic scowl came over his face.

“I ain’t done yet.” Tara’s grimmaced. “When the first drop of blood is drawn from the deathblow, the Rougarou will turn back into a person, and will reveal to his attacker his real name. Before the dying person takes their last breath, they will warn their deliverer that he or she can’t mention a word of this to nobody whatsoever for an entire year. If you do, you will suffer the same fate and become the Rougarou.”

“It ain’t true” Eddie’s eyes looked away.

“It is so. I heard that just last year over in Larose, a man reported being followed and pestered by a white dog while he was jogging one morning. The dog started to become violent, so he trailed off into the woods, got a big ole stick and went to town on that dog. Next thing you know, the man went missing.”

Tara could tell Eddie was getting scared. He started to twitch and fidget, and wouldn’t look her in the eye.

Good. Maybe he’s so scared, he’ll just go to bed.

“I think I’m going to brush my teeth and go to bed,” Eddie said

“Good.” Tara removed her arms from the counter and backed away.

Eddie jumped down, grabbed his toothbrush from the holder, squirted the blue goo on it, and then scrubbed away. When he was done, Tara walked with him to his room.

“Want me to tuck you in,” Tara asked.

“No, I don’t need you,” Eddie huffed.

“Okay, suit yourself.”

Tara watched as Eddie wobbled his way to the bed, hoisted his foot up, and climbed in. He pulled back his Transformer covers, nestled in, and rested his head against his pillow.

“Goodnight Tara.”

“Goodnight Eddie. Oh and Eddie?’

“Yeah?”

You might want to leave your closet light on. I also hear that the Rougarou likes to sneak into bad little boy’s rooms at night and nip at their heels.”

“Shut up, Tara.” Eddie rolled over so she couldn’t see the fear in his eyes.

“Goodnight, sleep tight, and don’t let the Rougarou bite.” Tara giggled.

“Shut up!. Goodnight and leave me alone.”

Tara backed out the door and shut it with a gentle click.

When he was sure she was gone, Eddie pulled out his G.I. Joe flashlight from under his pillow, flicked it on, and did a spot search of the premises from the safety of his Transformer sheets. Seeing all was clear, he lied down and tried to go to sleep. But all he could think about was the Rougarou.

The next morning Eddie woke up, went down stairs, fixed himself a bowl of Fruity Pebbles, grabbed a T.V tray, and sat down on the floor (in the exact same spot where he was the night before.) to eat his cereal and watch Super Friends. His clanking in the kitchen, along with the T.V. pumped up to full blast, woke up Diana. She shuffled into the living room, unnoticed by Eddie, walked up behind him, and bent down and gave him a kiss on the cheek. She startled Eddie, and he sloshed his cereal onto the tray.

“Loud enough for you, Eddie?” Diana walked over to the television and turned the volume down to half way. ‘How was last night? You and Tara have fun?”

“Mmm it was okay.” Eddie said slurping his cereal from his spoon, eyes fixed on Superman breaking open a cave wall with a punch.

“Okay? Tara told me that you refused to get ready for bed, and then squirted toothpaste all over her?”

Eddie ignored his mother. This time, Batman and Robin were jumping into the Batmobile to answer a call for help.

Diana pushed the power button and the television flickered to grey.

“Watcha do that for?” Eddie dropped his spoon and dribbled milk down his chin.

“No T.V. for you this morning. Especially after that stunt you pulled last night. Tara is supposed to come over again tonight because your father and I are going to the Mayeaux wedding. We’ve never asked her to do two in a row before, but she said she wouldn’t mind. You pull something like that tonight, buddy, and I’ll make sure your daddy gets a hold of your rear end. You understand me?” Roses were blooming in Diana’s pale cheeks.

“Yes ma’am,”

“When she comes back over here tonight, you’re gonna apologize to her. Understand?’

“Yes mamma.”

“Good. Now run along and go play outside.”

Eddie bounced to his feet and turned to make a break for it.

“But not before you put away your tray!”

He stopped mid stride, did an about face, and headed back for his tray.

After he finished putting breakfast away, Eddie went up to his room to prepare the necessary gear for going outdoors in southern Louisiana. He dawned his blue jeans and camo shirt, shouldered his canteen, and belted his survival knife.

Eddie then raced down the stairs like a jack rabbit and bounced out the door. He ran around the back of the house and grabbed his red and black BMX, mounted it, and took off. He made his way down the long, concrete driveway and out to the gravel road. The Miller’s lived on the outskirts of town, about eight miles away from LA 24. There were a few neighbors who lived close to them, like the Walkers and the Donahue’s, but other than that, they were by themselves.

Just about every Saturday during the summer, Eddie would ride his bike down the gravel road. About a mile and a half down, the woods opened up to a little field about fifty yards long. In the middle of the field stood a monstrous oak tree. Its’ branches were so long, they touched the ground. Eddie would play on the tree for hours, pretending he was fighting COBRA or saving Eternia from Skeletor. But today, since he didn’t get to finish watching Super Friends, he was going to be Superman, and the tree was the great Octoserpent that threatened the lives of mankind.

As soon as Eddie pulled up to the tree, he jumped off his bike, one fist outstretched and the other pulled close, and flew towards the great Octoserpent. “Your tentacles are no match for my super strength.” Eddie grabbed a low hanging branch and pretended to rip it from the tree.

After about fifteen minutes of fighting the Octoserpent, Eddie got thirsty. He picked up his canteen that he had tossed to the ground when he was flying to save the world and sat on the same branch he was just wrestling with. He gulped some water from the opening. He stared out into the brush just beyond the field and a large, white dog poked its head out from around one of the bushes. Its eyes locked with Eddie’s. Eddie jolted up like the tree had just run an electric current up his rear end. He dropped his canteen and stood to his feet. He could see the dog had black eyes, long, pointy ears, and was growling.

The dog made its way from out behind the bushes and Eddie could see just how big it was. “It can’t be.” Eddie whispered. “The Rougarou!” His shout set the dog in motion.

Its paws pounded the grass. It bared its teeth and its ears were pinned back.

Eddie squealed, ran to his bike, mounted it, and peddled as hard as he had ever remembered peddling.

“Help help help!” He pumped his legs, but the dog was gaining ground. He made it out to the road and was able to pick up speed. “Momma! Daddy! Help, help! Mr. Walker!” Eddie looked back over his shoulder, and the dog was only about ten yards behind him. He leaned in and tried to go faster. He was crying, but the wind on his face was drying his tears just as fast as he could spit them out.

“Rougarou! It’s the Rougarou! He’s gonna get me, Tara said so!”

Eddie heard what sounded like a muffled clap. He looked back again and saw that the dog was at his rear wheel, nipping at his feet. He kept peddling and the dog kept snapping, coming within hairs of sinking its teeth into his achilleas. Seconds later, Eddie’s bike came to a crashing halt. The dog had bitten down on the back tire. Eddie flew forward over the handle bars and landed on the ground with a thud. With the breath knocked out of him, Eddie could hear the growls getting closer. He got to his knees and stood up.

The dog leaped for him.

All Eddie saw was a white flash. Back on the ground. Eddie wrestled to get free from the white cloud. The dog let him up, so Eddie kicked up dust and high tailed it out of there on two legs.

The white dog took chase. It got close to Eddie again and started nipping at his heels. Eddie tripped and crashed to the ground again.

The dog circled Eddie with head down and eyes fixed.

Eddie was sobbing and breathing so hard his lungs felt like they were on fire.

“Go away, you dumb dog. I know what you are, you stupid Rougarou. Get out of here.”

The dog lunged in and bit Eddie on the calf, but not hard enough to pierce his skin. Eddie screamed and kicked his legs like he was peddling his bike. Then he remembered his knife. He released it from its sheath and buried it deep in the dog’s neck. Blood sprayed out of the dog’s neck like someone had just turned on a sprinkler. The dog yelped and backed away from Eddie.

He could see its white coat turning crimson. The dog got down on its belly and crawled towards Eddie, wincing. When it got closer, that’s when Eddie noticed. It’s front paws started to lose their hair, and the nails elongated to fingers. Its tail looked like it got sucked in to the rest of its body. The ears started to shrink, and the hind legs were growing bigger. Eddie then looked at its face. The snout shrunk and the teeth began to flatten. In a matter of moments, there was a naked man lying curled up in a fetial position. The man had black matted hair, thick eyebrows, and was shivering as blood still poured from his neck. Then he spoke.

“Come here, boy. I got something to tell you.”

Eddie was a block of ice.

The man continued. “My name is Larry Bordelom from Metairie. I went down to New Orleans because I heard there was a witch there who could cast spells of prosperity.” Larry coughed and then placed his hand over the hole in his neck. “I don’t have long…but the witch tricked me. She cast the spell and said I would be visited by someone who would bring me great fortune.” Larry’s teeth started to chatter. “As soon as I left and started walking to my car, that’s when I saw it, the Rougarou. It charged me and knocked me over. I didn’t know what it was…thought it was just a dog, so I pulled out my gun and shot it dead…that’s when I found out…Listen boy, the curse is now yours. If you want it to pass, you can’t tell no one about this for a year…can you do that son?”

Eddie nodded his head.

“Good son, good.” The man then dissolved to a pile of dust.

Eddie went home and spent the rest of the day in his room.

Eddie’s dad came and knocked on his door around 5 p.m.

“Come in.”

“Hey son, you’ve been awful quiet this afternoon, You okay?”

Eddie was sitting on the floor playing with his He-Man action figures. Man-at-Arms had Beastman on the ground, clubbing him away with his yellow battle club. “Yeah dad, just playing.”

“Oh, okay…Well, Tara is going to be here soon. Why don’t you go ahead and take a bath before she does.”

“Sure dad.”

Tara showed up around 5:30. They did their usual routine, except basketball. Eddie didn’t want to go outside at all. Around 7:00 they ate hotdogs. Eddie was docile all evening, and Tara thought he might be getting sick. She had never seen him this quiet before. They were sitting at the kitchen table, and Eddie chewed away relentlessly at his hotdog.

“You feeling alright, Eddie?”

“Mmhmm” Eddie said under a mouth full of food.

“You been pretty quiet this evening. Not like you at all. Something on your mind?”

Eddie shook his head. He thought for sure Tara could see the terror lurking behind his eyes. He didn’t know what acting was like, but he was sure that he was doing a good job of it.

“Wanna go watch some television,” Tara asked.

“Sure.”

Eddie slid out of his chair and headed towards the living room. Tara cleaned up their mess, and then joined him. When she walked into the living room, Eddie wasn’t sitting in his usual spot. He was on the couch, knees to his chest.

“You care if I sit by you tonight,” he asked.

He’s finally warming up to me, Tara thought.

Tara smiled. “Sure buddy, you can sit right here by me. I’ll even put my arm around you. Cool?”

“Cool.”

Eddie dozed in and out while the television played. He perked up a little when Fall Guy came on, and stayed awake for the entire episode.

Then 8:30 came.

Ok, here we go. Time for Monster Eddie to show his face, Tara thought.

“Eddie, its 8:30. Time to get ready for bed okay?”

“Okay.” Eddie scooted off the couch and headed upstairs to his room.

Tara’s jaw dropped a tad as she thought her eyes and ears were playing tricks on her. Nope, sure enough, Eddie didn’t even utter a cross word to her.

Upstairs in the bathroom, Eddie locked the door, put the toilet lid down, and sat. His knees were trembling and his teeth where chattering. Fear crept down his spine like a spider going for its prey.

Maybe it’s not real. Maybe I just imagined it. Maybe it’s not true. Maybe I should tell Tara. No, no, what if it’s real?

A knock on the door. Eddie jumped to his feet.

“You brushing away in there”

“About to.” Eddie brushed his teeth, opened the door, and walked down the hall to his room.

Tara was standing in the doorway. “Gonna tuck yourself in tonight big boy?”

Eddie reached out and held her hand. “No, will you?” Tara knelt down and gave him a big hug. “I sure will.”

Tara helped Eddie into bed and pulled back the Transformer covers. Eddie slid in, and Tara pulled the covers up to his chest. “Goodnight, Eddie.” Tara kissed him on the forehead and turned to walk out of the room.

“Tara, wait. Can I talk to you?”

Tara sat down on the edge of his bed. “Sure. What’s up?”

Eddie recounted to her the events from earlier today with the Rougarou. Tara did her best not to laugh, because she could see the seriousness on Eddie’s face and hear the fear in his voice. After he was done, Tara smiled and tried to comfort him.

“Eddie, that story I told you last night, it’s not true. It’s made up. It’s what’s called an urban legend, a story that’s told just to scare people.”

“No, it’s not!” Eddie jerked away from her. “You don’t believe me and you think I’m making it up and that I’m just a stupid little kid but I’m not and now I’m gonna turn into the Rou..ga…r” Eddies words were swallowed by a torrent of tears. Tara place her hand on his back. Eddie turned around and flung himself on Tara. She held him until the tears subsided.

“Listen, Eddie.” Tara whispered in his ear. “Whatever happened to you today, I want you to know that it wasn’t the Rougarou. I’m not saying that you didn’t see something weird or whatever today. I’m just saying it ain’t the Rougarou. Okay?”

“Tara?” Eddie let go of his embrace and sat back against his pillow. “Please don’t tell momma and daddy? Please?” Eddie sniffled and slid back under his covers.

“I promise.”

Eddie grinned. “Thanks.”

“You betcha. Now go to sleep.” Tara kissed him on the cheek, rolled off the bed, and walked towards the door and turned off the light.

Mr. and Mrs. Miller walked through the front door at around 9:45. Tara was sitting on the couch reading Stephen King’s Pet Sematary.

“Hey Tara, how’d he do tonight?” Mr. Miller loosened his blue tie.

Tara pulled her head out of the book. “Perfect lil angel.”

Mrs. Miller snorted.

“No, seriously.” Tara marked her place and put the book down. “He was quiet all evening. We played some, watched T.V., and when it was bed time, he gave me no fuss.”

“Yeah, he’s been awful quiet all day. Just sat in his room and played all afternoon.” Mr. Miller plopped down in his recliner. “He say anything to you? Anything bothering him?”

“No. Nothing. Wonderin’ if me might be comin’ down with something.” Tara played it cool. “You might want to go and check on him before you go to bed. See if he’s running a fever.”

“Sure. We will.” Mrs. Miller assured her. “Thanks again for everything. We’ll see you tomorrow at church.

They said their goodbyes and Tara headed home. Later that night, before they went to sleep, Diana went up to check on Eddie. He was sound asleep. She put her hand to his forehead and he didn’t feel feverish. She kissed cheek and left him to sleep in peace.

Morning came, and it was time to get ready for church. It was 8:00 a.m. and Eddie still wasn’t up. Tim Miller went up to Eddie’s room and knocked on the door.

No answer.

He turned the knob and cracked the door open. “Hey, sleepy head, time to…” Eddie wasn’t in his bead. Tim headed back down stairs into the kitchen. Diana was sitting at the table finishing off her second cup of coffee.

“Seen Eddie this morning,” Tim asked

“No, Tim. He hasn’t gotten out of bed. I been up since 6.” Diana sipped her coffee.

“Well, he’s not in his bed. I just checked.”

The Miller’s searched every room in the house. When they were sure he wasn’t inside, they made their way outside.

Eddie wasn’t there either.

They got in their car and drove down the road to Eddie’s tree, but no sign of him there.

When they got back to the house, Diana called the Stillman’s and asked for Tara.

“Hello.”

“Tara, this is Mrs. Miller. We can’t find Eddie.”

A lump was swelling in Tara’s throat like a balloon.

“Do you know where he could be? Did he say anything to you yesterday that might…”

Mrs. Miller’s voice started to shake. Tara decided she needed to spill the beans.

“He…he told me…that he saw the Rougarou. He was scared last night. Thinks he’s gonna turn into it.”

“The Rougarou? Where on earth did he hear that story from? We’ve never said anything to him about it.”

“I…I told it to him Friday night to scare him. He was being bad. It was after he squirted me with the toothpaste. I’m sorry.”

“Tara, honey, I’m not mad. And I don’t really see what that has to do with him being missing. Thanks though.”

“You’re welcome Mrs. Miller. Goodbye’

“Goodbye.”

The Miller’s didn’t go to church that day. They drove around town looking for Eddie. The afternoon came and went, and still no sign of the boy, so the Miller’s decided to call the police. They filed a missing person’s report, and the police jumped on it right away.

Two weeks passed, and still no sign of Eddie. Wanting to have some normalcy back in their lives, Tim and Diana asked the Stillman’s over for Sunday lunch. This was a routine that they started this past February. Every other week they would rotate. Sandy tried to talk Diana into having it at their house, but Diana insisted. She said it would make her feel better, so Sandy agreed.

Sunday rolled around, and the Stillmans and the Millers pulled into the driveway of the Miller’s home. They exited their vehicles and went to the door. Tim turned the lock and went inside–and there it was on the stairs, growling.

Tim flinched back. “Oh holy…what the…Everyone stay back! Back!”

Instead, they all rushed forward to see what was going on. Don pushed his way to Tim.

“When’d y’all get a dog,” Don asked.

“We didn’t.” Tim opened the door all the way. “Maybe if we just back up, it will run out the door and go away.”

The white dog, with its black eyes and pointed ears, made a slow descent down the stairs, growling with every step. The Stillmans and the Millers stepped through the door, and huddled together near the wall, Don and Tim in front. Rather than going out the door, the dog circled towards them.

“Don,” Sandy spoke up. “I don’t think it’s going away.”

Tim directed the huddle down the hall. “Our bedroom is right there to the right. We’ll back up slowly into it. Shut the door. I’ll go get my 12 gauge.”

A solemn fear seized Tara. “No, no, no, you can’t kill it. It’s Eddie. Its’ Eddie. He’s the Rougarou!”

Don snapped his head back at Tara. “Hush, girl. Don’t you start the crap again.”

Tara looked at her mother, then to Mrs. Miller. “You can’t let them. You can’t. It’s Eddie I’m telling you.”

Diana glared at Sandy as if to say, “You need to shut her up or I’ll do it for you.”

Sandy grabbed Tara by the shoulders and shook her. “You stop! Stop that now!”

“Enough!” Tim Miller took control. “Everyone back up now, go to the room.”

The dog inched towards them, saliva dripping from its teeth. Tara, Sandy, and Diana backed into the room. Don followed suit, but before Tim could make it past the doorway, the dog pounced. It knocked Tim to the ground, and bit down hard on his shoulder. Tim screamed in agony. “The gun Don, get the gun. Top of the closet. Shells are in the nightstand.”

Don dashed to the closet and got the gun. He then went to the nightstand and slapped some shells in the double barrel 12 gauge. He snapped it closed with a thump.

Tim took his thumbs and jammed them into the dog’s eyes. It let go of his shoulder and backed away. Tim scooted into the room, but there was no way he was getting that door closed. The dog crept back in after him. “Shoot it Don, shoot it now, before it gets closer!”

“No daddy no,” Tara shrieked.

The hallow blast of the shotgun echoed through the bedroom.

Tara screamed, and the dog went airborne, flying out into the hall.

Don helped Tim to his feet, and the two moseyed over towards the dog.

That’s when they saw it, and that’s when Tim Miller screamed.

Laying in a pool of blood, with a hole in his chest, was Eddie Miller.

Tara, Diana, and Sandy hurried over just in time to hear Eddie speak.

“It’s me, daddy, Eddie. I’m not the Rougarou anymore. You are.” Eddie then disintegrated into a pile of dust.  

Next time you’re in southern Louisiana, and a white dog crosses your path, you better hope and pray that it’s not the Rougarou. If it is, you better hope you can keep a secret.

Categories
Featured Horror Mystery and Lore Indie Horror Short Horror Stories

When the Bandage Man Finds You

The sky was drowning the Oregon Coast during the summer in 1932, that Monday–August 4th–had brought two unexpected inches and it looked as if they were going to get at least that many more before nightfall. Harvey glanced up at the dark and angry storm-clouds overhead, his dirty rain-streaked face bore an unfortunately stern look. Harvey paired up with Jack, both men were large and burly and their capabilities with the equipment had never failed them before. They had a few special jobs to take care of in Section 8 and one of them to take down a particularly massive pine. Their hands were both slick with sweat, rain, and grease; halfway through the trunk, their saw bucked suddenly as it hit a knot. Harvey’s glove slid clean off as he scrambled to control the blade at which point he lost his footing. The saw raked him hard against his left cheek and then his torso–then–everything went black.

His eyes were coated thickly with dried blood as he made an attempt to open them, he barely registered the paramedics looking down at him as they bounced along the wet roads of the old coastal highway. Half-way to blacking out again, Harvey heard a loud thud, then darkness overtook them all as the ambulance was swept off the highway in a mudslide. The rescue crews came around the next day when they could finally reach those who had not made it back the night before–they uncovered the lifeless bodies of the driver and paramedics, but Harvey’s body was never recovered. In an official capacity he was reported as a missing person, but presumed dead from all of the injuries he had sustained.


It wasn’t the best night to be on an unfamiliar highway, the patches of fog which only seemed to break for torrential downpour. The onslaught of rain smacked heavily against the windshield suddenly which disturbed Lee out of her uneasy sleep. Her eyes were wide and dark as she searched the gloomy scenery from the passenger seat as if to figure out where they were.

“Hey, you okay?” Mason, Lee’s boyfriend, gave her a sideways glance and a playful jostle to her knee.

“Huh? Oh,” she blinked and swallowed as if that would help clear the fog in her mind. “Yeah, just got a bit startled is all,” the rain was drowning out the sound of the weather forecast and it proved impossible to hear over the extra static on the radio. All she could see out of her water-streaked window were the outlines of trees made possible by the dingy high beams of their old shaky single-cab. “Where are we anyway?”

“Well I think we’ll be coming up on highway 26 in a little while, so according to GPS we’re just outside of Cannon Beach?” Mason didn’t sound sure, but with a quick look at the phone on his dashboard showed him that he was way off course. “Wait… that’s not right. Let me just pull off the highway real quick…”

Headlights in the fog
Photography by Will Swann

Mason saw a side road that led off the narrow highway and realized too late that it wasn’t well maintained as the truck listed hard to the side into a pothole. The two of them heard a loud pop just as they went careening towards the trees. He stomped so hard on the brakes he was surprised he didn’t break the pedal—but it only took the couple a moment to realize how close they had just come to serious injury. The two looked at each other breathlessly before they both burst into that uncontrollable and slightly inappropriate happy-to-be-alive laughter. Lee hung her head in her hands and her laughter turned into a groan.

“Of course, this is what happens on our first road trip together,” she pulled out her phone to call roadside assistance and Mason grabbed a flashlight then hopped out of the driver’s seat to check how much damage there was. From Lee’s perspective, it looked as if Mason was just shaking his head in disbelief, while the rain soaked him down to the bone.

“Did they say how long it would be for a tow?” Her waterlogged beau climbed back into the cab after a while, clicked the flashlight off and sighed.

“Well, there’s a problem, since we don’t know what road we’re on, all I could tell them is that we were on our way into Cannon Beach when our GPS started acting up and we pulled off—I’m not sure how much they heard, I had to repeat the policy number four or five times because the reception here is terrible. I don’t think anyone is going to be able to find us for a while,”

Mason cursed under his breath, “did you bring the blankets up here at the last rest stop we made?” Lee nodded and pulled her part of the seat forward to pull them out of where they had been stashed. Mason was already shaking from the chill that ran through his body as he pulled off his wet shirt and pants in an attempt to dry off with one of the blankets.

“I don’t like it here Mason,” Lee’s voice trembled a bit, her knuckles whitened from the vice-like grip she had on the second blanket. “It feels like we’re being watched.”

“Baby, we’ll be alright, we’re right outside of a town, if it weren’t raining we could probably walk—”

“—I am NOT walking anywhere! That’s the kind of thing that gets you killed in horror movies,” she huffed and Mason reached over to push her thick dark hair out of her eyes, an unyielding expression had overcome her.

“Come here, you whiner,” Mason smiled and pulled her over to him, “we’ll be alright, we’re not walking anywhere. We’ll have to stay here until morning though if the tow truck isn’t able to find us.” Lee’s lips returned to their pout and she leaned into him, “In fact, I think this is pretty great—it almost feels like we’re going parking,” Mason laughed, a devilish grin spread wide across his face and he snuck a kiss from her.

“You’re terrible,” she teased between his kisses before they finally lost all words and the sensual, playful kisses turned into clumsy, feverish fumbles—reminiscent of their teenage years. Lee pulled the second blanket around them as the windows began to fog up; the rush from their accident and subsequent stranding had turned into an insatiable lust for one another. Mason had Lee’s shirt halfway unbuttoned when they both felt it—the whole bed of the truck leaned heavily to one side and then bounced back.

“What the—” they both sat up to look out into the bed of the truck, “can’t see anything,” Lee used her sleeve to wipe the foggy window clean and immediately screamed in terror. There were red luminescent eyes looking back at her through the window, through a strange mask—no, not a mask, they were bandages. Mason fumbled with the flashlight to see what she had seen, but by the time he shone the flashlight through the back window there wasn’t anything to see. Whatever it was, Lee was inconsolable and babbling about red eyes.

Screaming in the dark

“Lee!” He shook her, “LEE! Listen to me! What did you see?”

“Mummy,” she squeaked out between sobs, “red eyes,” it was like her throat closed after that and she couldn’t find words to explain—the truck shifted again, the front end of the car sunk slowly down and they could hear the metal bending under something heavy. Mason tried to shine the light through the windshield, but the heat inside of the cab made the windows impossibly opaque. He had never had a reason to not believe what Lee said, but he didn’t know how to process her claims. Before he could even reach up to the windshield to wipe it off, someone—or something—began pounding on the windshield and roof of the truck.

“We’ll be okay,” his voice was soft, “we’ll be okay,” his voice got lower, “we’ll be okay.” Mason began to choke as a stomach-turning stench wafted in through the vents—it was the unmistakable smell of rotting flesh—the pounding continued for a few minutes and Mason held Lee protectively, she whimpered and ducked her head into his arms. It sounded like whatever was banging on the truck had moved back to the bed and Lee jumped at the sound of when it began beating the glass of the back window. Then it all stopped, but Lee couldn’t bring herself to look up.

The glass behind Mason’s head shattered as a bloodied and bandaged hand smashed through and grabbed him by the hair. Screams erupted from both of them and Mason attempted to beat away the bandaged arm with the flashlight he still had in his hand. Lee scrambled backward; blood-curdling screams propelled her through the door after she fumbled for the handle. Her body fell like a ragdoll out of the cab of the truck and she landed hard on the muddy ground. Frantically she grasped for footing in the slick and unforgiving earth below her, she caught a brief glimpse of the broken silhouette of the thing as it pulled her boyfriend out of the broken back window. It was strangling him; she could see him gasping for air through his broken cries for help.

Mason’s body went limp and Lee couldn’t find her voice to scream anymore, but she had wasted her opportunity to get away, frozen in place as she watched her boyfriend die before her eyes. Disbelief left her body as adrenaline pumped deafeningly through her and she scrambled back toward the highway at a sprint. Lee thought she saw lights coming through the fog, but a filthy bloodstained hand covered her mouth and yanked her backward.


It was nearly daylight when Larry pulled slowly on to Bandage Man road—he’d been searching for these tourists all night after his company received a call for a tow, but he’d been told it was garbled and all they knew is that they had been on their way into town.

“That damn pothole, I told ‘em it’d cause a problem sooner or later,” he moaned to himself as he navigated around the lake that had formed within it overnight. Once he caught sight of the truck he frowned, the passenger-side door was wide open—that was strange—and one of the back windowpanes looked as if it had been busted out. Larry stepped out of his rig and hollered, “Hello?” No response. He noticed as he walked up to the driver’s side of the truck that there was blood on the freshly broken back window, along with a lingering odor he couldn’t quite place. When he finally saw that there was no one in the truck, his heart began to race wildly—he knew as soon as he saw that ripped and bloodied bandage on the seat what had actually happened here, nearly a hundred years after Harvey, the Bandage Man, had met his brutal end.

Bandage Man of Cannon Beach, Oregon

Since we’re dedicated to supplying you with creative inspiration and all of your lore needs, we suggest you take a look at our encyclopedia entry on this particular haunting.

If you happen to have any first-hand encounters with Bandage Man or know a story that you grew up with, comment below and give us the details!