highriskindividual:

The First Shadow

This is the story of my first paranormal experience, for some reason I feel that sharing these experiences will give

Allow me to set the scene and introduce the main players to this theater. It was the early eighties, in the small city of Amersfoort in the Netherlands, in the early dark of the Dutch winter. It was six pm at the latest but the sun had been fully set for at least two hours. My sister and I were playing together in our shared second floor bedroom, safe and secure under the warm yellow glow of the overhead light.

It was a rare thing, for even at this early age we were as polar as fire and ice. I was a hot tempered child, with an unfeminine interest in fighting sports and disagreeable nature. Even at the tender age of three, I would fight at any given opportunity, attempting to prove my hardiness and to possibly included in the games the boys played. Preferring swords and lasers to wands and tiaras. Willful, aggressive, and quick to temper… I will call myself Ifrit.

My sister, a year and a half younger than I, was quiet and obedient child. Shy and calm, she was the darling of our family. A heart breaker from the moment she opened her eyes. I, and I alone, knew that she was not what she appeared to be. I knew she was a brat, and that all she did, she did for the sake of want and personal gain… even before she learned to speak in full sentences she learned the power of a coy smile and agreeable demeanor. For as much as I loved my sister, I loathed her. As it was she who was the favorite, who was never punished, and she who everyone gave their attentions to. Cold and calculating, I will refer to her as Shiva.

On that night however, by whatever magic or for whatever reason, peace and play presided in a bright, secure room. I can remember our giggling, though not what we were giggling about, and I can remember the feeling of joy I took from Shiva’s company and her insanely cute smile… and I can remember that we were alone. My mother, who is a character for another tale, would often use prescription medication to escape her domestic captivity and having fed and bathed us had slipped into a barbiturate induced coma. The house was as dark as the norther night that surrounded it, the only light was one in our bedroom, and the only sound our enthralled laughter.

It had been this way for an hour or more, since our mother became indisposed. When for no reason that either of us could understand and the same exact moment, we stopped. It was not like we ran out energy, or paused to catch our breaths. We both froze in place and ceased to make any sound. It was as though time had frozen, and all the joy and excitement had been sucked out of the room. It was just me, and Shiva, staring at one another.

All other details of that time are fuzzy in my mind as I was so young. I could not tell you more about the layout of the room than to say there was a large space where we play in the center of the room, and that the door was in the center of the wall. But I can clearly remember my sister, and the following events of that evening.

I can still picture my sister kneeling on the floor in her pink Osh’Kosh onesie in front of me as I stood paralyzed and confused. After a few seconds of dumb silence, just before I felt I could move again the lights flickered, for not more than split second, but it was enough to keep both of us frozen for just a little bit longer. It is hard to say how long, as that feeling of time being stopped persisted, when I felt a strong the urge to look to my right. Apparently the same urge had also stuck Shiva, as her head turn slowly, in perfect time with mine, to stare at the open bedroom door. From it a corridor of light spilled into the hall creating a lit, rectangular box reaching across the floor and half way up the wall on the other side.

We stood there, the pair of us, like little statues. Our gazes fix upon the golden box outlined in the dark hall when a shadow darted into the center of the lit frame, filling it half way in height, and seemed to turn to face us. Even to my naive self, there was something very odd about this shadow. The first thing that occurred to me was that neither my sister nor myself had moved, thus it could not belong to either of us. The second thing I noticed was that the shadow started at the base of the wall, but was not stretched across the floor as it should to, leading to what ever was casting it. It was though it was painted on the wall. Thirdly, it was shaped rather like the upper torso of a man, but lacked and definition or detail. There was no apparent hair, no bumps for ears, it was just roughly shaped like a head and upper torso. Other than my childish attempts to understand what this figure before was, my mind was blank. And despite being frozen and dumbstruck by the oddity of it all, I wasn’t frightened. I didn’t feel threatened by the shadow on the wall, it just didn’t make sense.

Then, it left. As quickly as it had appeared, the shadow darted back out of the lit section of wall and vanished into the dark of our still house. There was a few more seconds of silence, and then I turned to look as Shiva, still frozen and staring at our bedroom door. It took her a second or two longer to come out of the daze than I did. When she did she returned to facing at me, and began to howl and sob. Where I had been left fascinated by the even, she had spent those moments frozen in fear. I often wonder, was it our personalities that shaped the experience, or was there something she sensed that I could not. What ever it was, she was left crying, and repeating two words over and over between the sobs.

“Slecht-blij” or “bad-happy”. I knelt down and hugged her, baffled by her words. It would be years before I would come to understand what “bad-happy” meant…. but that is another story… and this is the story of the first shadow, who I saw for only a few seconds when I was three years old. This thing has the distinction of being one of my first memories, if not, the first. More than that, it was the herald of many more shadows to come.

We only lived in that house for a few more months, my father’s work had us moving as often as twice a year at that point. And while we never saw that particular figure after that, my sister and I would wake up every once in a while to see dozens of tiny shadow figures, marching in file along the top of our walls, encircling the entire room and moving in an endless loop. Unlike the first shadow these encounters were not brief, often lasting for hours on end as they silently marched their awkward march around us.

(via insideoutpineapple)

abandonedography:

Abandoned places have the best architecture. 

Photo by Ian Ference

(Source: abandonedography, via abandonedography)

rewfoe:

Opit goin nuts on the machine gun.

Another little clip from my upcoming personal project. Stay tuned!

Love,

Rewfoe