Pedro Incognito

I usually spend my Sunday evenings reading over various paranormal accounts on the internet, for no other reason than to keep myself entertained and maybe, if I'm lucky, to scare myself a bit. As a kid, I went through an alien/ghost phase (about two years after my ninja phase and right before my power ranger phase) that I never really grew out of. I would feverishly try to get my hands on all manner of paranormal books, reading through them in a vain attempt to discover The Truth. I was Mulder, but as the years passed on, I grew jaded, and abandoned my crusade.

Yesterday, I posted a story I found extremely frightening about a traveler and a waitress. Obviously, the entire tale is fiction (I'm more Scully than Mulder these days) but for whatever reason really spooked me down to my core. In fact, I have been utterly terrified of being alone in my apartment for the last two days. Even during the day. With the lights on. Protected by a fully armed and operational battle station cat. I open doors and expect to see her there, waiting, standing as still as death, staring back at me with pitch black eyes, a blood curdling scream emanating from her unnaturally wide open mouth filling the room and me with pure, uncontrollable fear. And that's what I found truly terrifying. She didn't hide and jump out at him. He wasn't ambushed. She just walked into that back room, and waited. It really tapped into one of my most deep seeded fears. The fear of having your guard down and turning the corner in your own house and seeing a monster at the end of the hallway expecting you. Turning the corner. Opening a door. Any small seemingly innocuous action, leading to a terrifying discovery. And in a way, she could be there. There is no way to know what is in your bedroom when the door is closed. Without an observer, the room, like Schrödinger's cat, could be in an infinite number of possible states but I won't know until I turn the knob, and slowly push open the door and peer into the darkness.

I stumbled across this late last night while on the /x/ boards:

First, I just want to say that I have never been a believer in the supernatural, paranormal, etc. I think that everything has a logical explanation that maybe only seems "bizarre" because of a certain kind of over excitement that many people have about "an experience from the other side," or what have you. There is absolutely no explanation for what I'm about to share with you, and it absolutely scares the crap out of me. Just recounting this is giving me a really creepy feeling that I don't think I'll be able to shake, maybe ever.

About three years ago, I was sitting in a local coffee shop in upstate New York during a little road trip. The restaurant was empty except for me and the night waitress. She was really pleasant and talked a lot; she was offering places to check out while I was in town and seemed amazingly astute. In fact, she seemed almost prescient, even guessing my age almost to the day and month and even certain things that I was actually planning to do the next day. It was so light-hearted, I thought I really lucked out by meeting a easy-going, smart young lady quite out my my normal way.

At closing time, she went to the back to, I guess, put some cash in the safe or something. As I was sitting there wondering what time I wanted to get up and hit the road again the next day, I momentarily thought I might even invite her for a few hours of "R&R." I decided instead to just remember the store and next time I passed through the area, to remember to stick my head in a say "hi" (no reason, I just wanted to play it cool and not seem overanxious at very first).

So, I got up and knocked on the door in the back of the coffee shop where she went in. At this time, there were only two dim lights in the main eating area, and barely any lights in the back room where she was. I opened the door. This woman who I just finished talking to was standing facing me, JUST STANDING THERE in the back of this dark room when I opened the door. Her skin was suddenly a clammy, cracked olive color, and her eyes were just BLACK. I mean, no white at all. Her eyes and mouth was open really wide, and she was screaming in the most spine-chilling sounds, something I couldn't understand, but it definitely wasn't sounds of goodwill.

I literally SCREAMED myself, and she started moving from one spot to the other through the room. Not running, just MOVING. Her clothes now looked all old, and she moved so fast; the back of the room must have been 15 feet or so back, and she just DARTED from one side of the back of the room, still facing me, to the other side, at an IMPOSSIBLE speed. Then she ran directly straight at me as I was now standing away from the door in the middle of the restaurant.

I got the hell out of there, and jumped in my car still seeing her nightmarish face in the restaurant, darting it seemed to every window at this impossible velocity. The worst thing was, as I tore out of the parking lot ... I looked in my rear view mirror ... and she was SITTING IN THE BACK SEAT, still with that nightmarish expression, still screaming. Then she just vanished as I was panicking around. Just gone. I don't know what that was that spoke to me in the restaurant that day, but I know that it wasn't a prank. I swear at night sometimes I see her shadow moving in the dark in my room, just grinning a really ugly, evil grin. I haven't slept properly since.

At a Walmart in Edinburg between two employees in the parking lot:

"Calm down Sponge Bob lover."
"Shut the fuck up!"

Hah, he IS wearing snake skin boots. I effin' knew it!

Brilliant. I finally convince Victoria to go to Yokos with me, and there is a mariachi band playing INSIDE for what I swear is the most fresa group of young people I have ever seen. These guys look like they fell out of a spanish novela. This is so ridiculous that I can't help but laugh. And the guy at the head of this little party? He has the greatest mustache I have ever seen. I bet you he's wearing snake skin boots.

I often forget what floor I am on. This leads to some very awkward moments when I attempt to use the stairs to return to my office. As a result, I am contemplating adding a post-it note on each floor next to the stairway exit with directions. It would have to be subtle, maybe even in code, as to not lead confused strangers or disappointed treasure seekers accidentally to my door.

I think I've become a worse writer. Like significantly. Enough to italicize and everything.

Earlier, I made the mistake of logging into my old Live Journal account. The last post I ever made was well over three years old. While reacquainting myself with the distant past, I came to a strange revelation. I realized that my vocabulary was larger back then. Not significantly larger. But large enough to notice. Not sure what happened. Oh, I know. I got lazy.

It's almost embarrassing how hopelessly romantic I was about a great many things. I had almost forgotten about all the heartbreak and disappointment. I wore my heart on my sleeve. In hindsight, I realize that perhaps I should not have been so overt about my feelings in my writing. That shit could have come back to bite me in the ass.

It's good thing I grew up. And got boring.