Flash Non-Fiction Horror Challenge from Chuck W.

Here's the link to the original blog post that inspired this short little jaunt.

Unfortunately or fortunately I've never had anything that I would call a supernatural experience, beyond the obvious moments of deja vu or calling someone as they were thinking of me/dialing me.

I can think of several moments when I was freaked out thinking that someone terrifying would soon befall me.

I'm going to go with two moments; mostly because they are both very short.

It was the late eighties or early nineties and we had a regular baby sitter who was watching us late one night. It probably wasn't much past nine in reality but it was dark outside and in my mind it was Halloween season. We were sitting in the living room watching TV when we heard someone pound on the pocket widow between the bookshelves.

We looked up to see the hand or a face (Something skin colored) drop out of site. For several minutes we considered calling 911 or my parents or running into the basement or outside for our live: we're talking genuine panic here. My brother and I were somewhere around 9 or 10 (I was two years younger) and our poor baby sitter, Angie, probably wasn't 16 yet.

This would be more interesting if I could remember how it was resolved but it turned out that Angie's brother Eric was the one behind the pounding. I don't think that he was even doing it to scare us. For some reason he was trying to come in and we hadn't heard his knocks or doorbell rings.

That's how that ended.

I know, right!?

The other item can be folded into the Satanic panic of the early nineties that I have since learned was absurdly driven by the media.

My brother and his friend, Scott decided to make a pentagram on the floor of the basement and proceed to light some candles in and around it.

You should bare in mind that satanism was a very real fear for people back then. I wouldn't consider my upbringing to be overly religious but there were extended periods of time where we went to baptist (the heavy guilt/ you're going to hell kind) services every Sunday.

For whatever reason I was very afraid of the devil and hell(a belief which I now blame my severe anxiety on). I grabbed my grandfather's bible:the closest thing that I had to a religious totem and, I think, a stuffed animal.

I can't say for sure why I didn't, simply go upstairs and do something else. But I imagine that I felt some sense of duty to prevent the evil that they were sure to conjure in my basement from entering our realm of existence -- or something like that.

So, I guess, the message here that I'm trying to convey is that brother's can be the worst!

Picture credit: http://www.publicdomainpictures.net/view-image.php?image=176836&picture=scary-grandpa