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True Story - The Hand

20.11.2012 04:48 EST
The Hand

This is true, I swear. I am convinced our house is haunted. As a child, I would see things. Not giant monsters that wanted to eat me, but floating orbs and strange, unidentified voices. And so did everyone else in my family. I grew up around this stuff, the noises, the orbs, creaking doors that opened by themselves, lights that would unexpectedly turn off and wouldn’t turn back unless commanded. Of course, that didn’t mean I was scared. I hid under my sheets as soon as the lights went out. One day, when I was five, my mom came up with a solution, a Bed Tent, a metal frame covered with cloth that fits over a bed. The best part was, I could hardly see through it. So, I stopped hiding under the sheets, until one night… It was an average night for me, eating dinner then brushing my teeth and getting into bed. I stayed up awhile, trying to fall asleep. Suddenly, I felt cold, as if the room had dropped a few degrees in temperature. I didn’t notice it then, but it was quiet, dead quiet, nothing but the beat of my heart and my breath interrupted the true silence. Than I saw it, so bright that I could see it through the tent. It was a disembodied arm, paper white but made of, curling smoke, that swirled as if it was caught in a glass shape, but the shape was of a grotesque arm. It was only the forearm, another fact I noticed only after I recalled the incident. The fingers of the hand were poised, as if it was grasping a doorknob. It moved slowly, but completely level, showing this was no ordinary arm, as a real arm would go up and down with a person’s stride. I watched as it slowly moved across the room, moving in a perfectly straight line towards the door. I was perfectly still, like a deer in the headlights, and just like a deer, I waited until after it had passed my bed to throw the sheets over my head, as if they would protect me. I stayed perfectly still, for hours, nearly suffocating myself, until I had gathered enough nerve to call out. My parents came after what seemed like an eternity of calling and I told them what happened, and they listened, because they saw stuff happen in the house too
I call this apparition the hand, even though there was most of an arm, and I never saw it again. My mother called into some psysic talk show, the ones where the psysics are sound real, knowing things you never told them. She (the psysic) told my mother that the “hand” was a memory, trapped in the house, like a record that plays over and over again for the reason that something horrible happened to its owner. It, she said, was not a ghost, who was an entire soul, just a memory. So I guess some walls can talk. I have not seen the “Hand” since and never want to.

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