Creepy - Day 18 - I Keep Watching My Son Die

Episode Date: October 18, 2020

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Day 18, I keep watching my son die. Written by Bomber Boot Babe 88 and narrated by Daniel Hewitt. I have a six-year-old son named Flint, and he's the most amazing little boy in the world. He has bright blue eyes, long wavy hair, and the absolute cutest button nose. And I'm not just saying this because I'm his mom.

It's common knowledge. Flint is a beautiful boy. In many ways, he's just like most other little boys. He loves Star Wars in Jurassic Park. His natural state is yelling. Covered in grime. And he'd eat chicken nuggets for every meal if I'd let him. Flint is also autistic.

Any autism parent will tell you, having a neurodivergent child presents its own unique set of challenges. For instance, Flint isn't fully potty trained. He has the vocabulary of a two-and-a-half-year-old. And he has little to know. no self-preservation instinct. He's a daredevil through and through. Thanks to multiple therapists in a great school district,

he's progressed into a happy, smart, very funny boy that everyone just adores. I wouldn't trade him for a million neurotypical kids. He's my little flinty. But ever since he was born, I've had nightmares about his death. Nearly every night for six years, I've watched my beautiful baby boy die when he was a baby. It was SIDS.

In my dreams, I'd swaddle him up, feed him a bottle, and rock my sweet baby to sleep. After putting him into his crib, I'd go about my afternoon at home, coming back a while later to find a cold, blue, dead baby. Once Flint was on his feet, the dreams changed. Now, he was drowning. Drowning in the bathtub, drowning in the lagoon near my home, drowning in the creek at the park, falling off a bridge and drowning.

Every time I'd find my boy, wet and lifeless. They changed again once he started preschool. Every night, I dreamt of a gunman, mowing down his class with a semi-automatic rifle. And my Flint, screaming, cowering in the face of his attacker, as his little brains get blown out. Now, we live in a more rural area, but our road stays fairly busy with logging and construction vehicles. We've lived here for just over a year, and the dreams here are the worst yet. Flint, playing in the yard, runs into the road to retrieve a lost ball, just as a huge truck barrels down on him. Then he's lying in the road, not quite dead.

His arms and legs are bent at all the wrong angles, and his blood is spilling onto the concrete. My Flint's perfect little face is just a massive hamburger, and I can see ribs protruding through his torn shirt. he doesn't understand why he hurts so much. He doesn't understand why there's so much blood. He doesn't understand why he can't scream. In this dream, unlike the other dreams, I hold my boy while he dies. I rock him and comfort him,

until, with one last shuddering breath, his beautiful blue eyes gaze over. And he's gone. I wake up screaming. All mothers worry, my psychiatrist says. And having dreams where your children get hurt is normal. It's our subconscious, playing out scenarios we worry about during the day. He has me on antidepressants and a sleep aide.

They don't really help, and he doesn't really know the whole story. He doesn't know about the shadow man. in every one of these dreams, I see a shadow man. He might be out in the open, like a fucked up bystander, or hiding behind a tree. But he's always there. Watching as my son dies over and over and over, in each dream, he's a little closer. When he's close enough, he reaches out and touches Flint. It's after that the dreams change, and I have to see my son die in a different way.

I don't know who or what he is exactly. But I think he's some kind of entity that feeds on fear. And he's causing these horrific nightmares. But I found a ritual that'll banish him. I know it's a long shot. But I have to try. I can't see my sweet little boy's lifeless corpse anymore. For more information, including pictures and videos of the stories told on this podcast,

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