Camp Sleep Scared

My Family

I died eight years ago. It wasn't particularly tragic. Or unusual. Just a car accident. I don't blame the man who hit me. He was speeding because his wife was in labor, and there was black ice on the road. He lost control of the car and I lost my life. Its not his fault. I know that. I'm not cruel. I am not vengeful. If anything, I'm the opposite. You see, I don't have any family left and I had lost my few friends around that time. When it was time for my funeral, the only people who came was my boss and the family who killed me. The wife held her newborn daughter close to her chest. I hated my boss, and the cemetery was awfully lonely, so I followed the family home. Lily may as well have been my own flesh and blood. She was sweet, and bright, and oh so very small. She had trouble sleeping if someone wasn't rocking her crib and her parents were so tired. After they put her to bed, it was easy for me to rock her crib for her. I didn't get tired. I could help her. As the years passed, Jack and Lori realized that they weren't alone in the house. It didn't take long from there to make a connection between my funeral and when I had showed up. And I'd never been malevolent, so they weren't afraid or angry. They started to burn candles on the anniversary of my death day. They left an empty chair for meals and holidays. I really felt like... A member of the family. Someone is trying to force the door. Its Lori's ex. He's obsessive. He's angry. He's going to hurt the family. My family. The thing about ghosts, is that the more offerings you get, the stronger you become. Id been enjoying candles, trinkets, and even the occasional food item for the past five years. I was strong from that. The knife feels warm in my hand. A shock of heat against the ice of my skin. Lori, Jack, and Lily are my family. I care about them. And they're not gonna join me yet.

I Should Have Read The Reviews

My girlfriend moved out three weeks ago. My cat, Ruk, was really close to her and now that she's gone, I can tell he's a bit lonely. Especially when I'm at work. I came home a few times to my curtains ripped up, or all the toilet paper in shreds.  The last straw was when I came home after working late to find he had clawed a hole the size of a dinner plate into the side of the sofa. I decided I had to do something. I tried different toys, even catnip, but nothing worked. One night while browsing Amazon, I saw a pet camera. It's a tiny camera that records your pet on a live feed so you can monitor their behavior while you're away. It even has an audio function so you can talk to them.  Sounded silly but hey, I love my furry dude so I bought it. I got overnight shipping and installed it immediately. I decided to set it up in my bedroom, as that was where Ruk dwelled most.  My first day at work I think I checked that camera thirty times. When I spoke into the microphone, Ruk seemed to be happier, and I noticed there was no destruction around the house either.  By day four I figured I'd solved the problem with Ruk.  That leads me to right now. About thirty minutes ago I climbed in bed with Ruk, ready to close my eyes, when my phone buzzed. A notification from the pet cam. I almost ignored it, sure I'd just triggered the thing. But I opened it anyway. What I saw made my grip tighten on the phone.  Instead of a video of myself in bed I saw a man, tall, gangly, with pale skin, and large eyes. He was moving into my room with exaggerated steps, like a sneaking cartoon character. He got right up to the lens, so close I could almost smell his rotten breath, and he smiled.  I immediately paused the video, terrified. I looked at the spot where the man should have been standing, but there was no one there. I went onto Amazon and found the pet cam, and read the reviews, hoping for some weird glitch. It had to be a joke, right?  The first dozen reviews were pretty standard, but it was the last that caused me to bolt upright.  The customer complained that the camera was on a time delay, sometimes as much as fifteen minutes.  I went back to the video and pressed play with shaky fingers. I watched in horror as the man slithered under my bed, giving the camera a wink before disappearing in the darkness. Then I saw myself enter the room and climb in bed before the video ended.  Now I'm sitting in my bed, knowing he's under it. I could call the police, but I doubt I'd have time…. So please, do yourselves a favor and read the reviews.

[PREVIEW] Birthday Girl

“Good morning, sunshine! Time to wake up!” I open my eyes and see Nurse Judy, ready to give me my morning injection. I sit on the bed and roll up my pajamas sleeve. I feel the needle under my skin and the medication flowing inside my veins. The nurse gives me a wide smile. “Good girl! You can go to the canteen now and have breakfast with your friends.” Friends… I don’t have friends here. My friends are almost 60 miles away from me. Enjoying life, learning new stuff, making out at parties. Certainly not spending their youth in a psychiatric ward. My parents put me there. It was after another anxiety attack at school. I lost control and tried to do something stupid. Now everything seems stupid to me... I pass by Nutsy Nora’s room. Her yelling is impossible to ignore. She keeps screaming “Kelly and Jenna” over and over again, whatever these names mean. I see two doctors rushing to her room with a set of tranquilizers. This place is full of people like her. I don’t think I belong here. I enter the canteen and hear a loud “Surprise!”. I look around and see other patients gathered around a cake with number candles - 1 and 7 - and an inscription: “Happy birthday, Robin!”. Right, it’s my 17th birthday. Yay. I totally forgot. I force myself to smile and blow the candles. The cake tastes like soap. Or a cough syrup. I hide both candles in my pocket when nobody's watching. I guess it’s the only gift I can count on today. I stop one of the nurses on the way back to my room. I ask if my parents are going to see me. She shrugs and walks away without saying a word. Bitch. As I lay in bed, I stretch my arms and look at my hands. They look… so weird. So damn weird... Maybe it’s a side effect of one of those medications? Nurse Judy interrupts my contemplation. She storms in with an afternoon dosage of pills. “How are you feeling, my dear? Did you like the birthday surprise?” she asks, with that annoyingly sweet smile. “Yeah, I forgot today’s the day.” She takes my hand and says, “Oh, don’t worry, darling, it happens to everybody.” As she holds my hand, I ask her why my skin looks so strange. Nurse Judy gives me a sympathetic gaze. “I think it’s normal at your age, don’t you think so, sweetie?” Is she trying to make a fool of me? Oh, I've had enough. “But I’m only 17!” I say imploringly. “I don’t know any other teenager with hands like these! Just look!” I take the candles out of my pocket and almost rub them in her face. “You see?! One and seven! Seventeen!” I bellow. Judy gently takes the candles from my shaking hands. “Robin, it’s not seventeen. Let me show you the right order. It’s seven and one.” …Seventy one.

[PREVIEW] The Blind Child

"Stabbing." Sylvia pointed a trembling finger at my brother Arthur. Her milky, unseeing eyes gleamed in his direction, and his wife, Agnes, trembled with indignation from across the table. My husband's face colored as he dropped his fork and dragged our daughter back into her bedroom, scolding her as they went. The rest of the night was awkward, and the pep in our conversation never recovered. Two weeks later, Agnes was stabbed to death in her office parking lot. An inebriated college student found her, almost vomited all over her, and called the cops. My brother swore that he bore no ill will against my daughter, but I could tell that he was lying. One day, the middle-aged woman who taught my daughter how to read her braille called me. "Ma'am, I don't know what's going on but your daughter's been whispering, 'electrocution, electrocution,' for the past half-hour and it's starting to distract her from her lessons. Could you please talk to her?" I did. Sylvia, in her nine-year-old lack of understanding, told me it was "just a cool new word" she learned at school. The death of an electrician made headlines the following week. It was a freak accident involving tangled wires and a bucket of water. Sylvia's teacher's face was blurred for privacy, but her voice was as familiar as anything to me: "He was…my partner…my soulmate." While my husband was working late, I called Sylvia into the living room. "Honey, is there anything Mommy should know?" She hesitated. "Honey, you know you can talk to me." She denied it once more, "I have no secrets from you, Mommy." My husband walked into the living room with his hair tousled and his eyes distant. Instead of rushing to hug her dad, Sylvia simply turned towards him. "Fire," she said. My heart stopped. Everytime Sylvia said something like that, it was the person's partner who died, and of that reason too. A fire? Was Sylvia merely making predictions, or was she putting a curse on me for snooping in on her business? Why, this devil child— I grew paranoid, checked the appliances and electronics constantly, and cleared the house of any fire hazards. That was my life over the next few days. All the while, I kept my eyes on Sylvia. Sylvia. I had grown almost hateful towards my own daughter. My husband came home one night, wounded and blackened with soot, while I sat in the living room and Sylvia listened to the radio beside me. "What's the matter?" I asked. He gulped. "One of my colleagues, her house…her house caught fire. She was trapped in, but I managed to escape." That turned the gears in my head. "What were you doing in her house?" The expression on my husband's face was a sufficient admission of guilt. I opened my mouth to speak—no, to scream—but a smaller voice from beside me looked at me and whispered: "Poisoning."

[PREVIEW] I Don’t Hate My Sister

Because of all of the things I do to Renée, most people would say I hate my little sister. I’m here to set the record straight. I didn’t let Renée’s cat out the back door because I hate her. Muffins is fine. I’ve been feeding him behind the shed. I don’t flush Renée’s medications before she takes them because I hate her. I was pretty panicked when I thought the toilet was going to clog, though. I didn’t erase her biology essay because I hate her. She got to see the cute librarian she’s crushing on, anyway. I didn’t unplug her cell phone before she left the house because I hate her. I unplugged it so that mom and dad wouldn’t be able to call her. I didn’t use the faulty outlet in the living room because I hate Renée. I really don’t hate my sister. The fire didn’t kill Renée. Because Renée didn’t have to go back for Muffins. Renée wasn’t sleeping due to her medicine. Renée was at the library, doing her report. I didn’t let our mom and dad die because I hate my little sister. I did it so that she wouldn’t end up buried in the garden like me.