Lighthouse Horror Podcast - My Family Had One Rule, If You Ever See A Strange Little Boy Don't Speak To Him | Scary Stories

Episode Date: April 15, 2024

I should've listened...   Story from WillRayne Make sure to check out more of their work at u/WillRayne  Cover Art from Rachid Lotf   Original Post: If you ever see the little boy in the corner of your eye, don't speak to him : r/nosleep  Original YouTube link: My Family Had One Rule, If You Ever See A Strange Little Boy Don't Speak To Him           For more stories like this one, check out my YouTube channel: Lighthouse Horror | YouTube  Patreon: Lighthouse Horror | Patreon Merch: lighthousehorror.com  Sound Effects: Freesound Zapsplat Music: Lucas King - YouTube Myuu - YouTube  Incompetech  Thank you for listening to this scary story! If you enjoyed this new creepypasta story, please check out some of my other horror stories. We'll be uploading new episodes every week, featuring ghost stories, haunted encounters, mysteries, true stories, creepypasta, and anything supernatural and paranormal. Don't miss out on the thrill and suspense that await you in each episode!

Have you ever seen him? The little boy just out of view? For me, he's always been there. Even when I was a kid myself, he was there, just in the corner on the edge of my periphery. Perhaps that's the very reason I never questioned it until recently. The fact that I'd always been aware of him, to a point anyway. I'm not entirely sure why I never felt the urge to talk to him, especially given the fact he always seemed as though he wanted to say something, or that's the way it felt anyway.

It could be that when I was a kid, I was just incredibly shy, and I didn't much care to speak to others if I could help it. As the years passed by, I came out of my shell a little bit, but I still felt awkward around new people, and I don't go out of my way to start a conversation with anyone I am close to either. Of course, regardless of the fact that I feel more at ease when I'm alone than when I'm around people. I've never been truly by myself, as he always has been there, just to the side of where I'm looking. I asked my dad about him once, to see if he'd ever seen him. He made a strange expression when I approached him with it, but he wouldn't give me an answer. Whether or not he was familiar with a boy, or if he just feared I may not

be of the most sound and stable mind, with my claims of seeing someone that nobody else, appeared to, he gave me one simple instruction, Don't ever talk to him. So I didn't. It wasn't that hard to do, as he was still only to the side of my vision, but I could always feel his eyes on me. When I'd awake in the middle of the night due to the frequent nightmares that plagued my younger years, I could still feel him staring at me.

Even with my night terrors, I was never a leave-the-light-on sort of kid. I liked the darkness. I liked being hidden behind the shadows. I liked not having to see the shaggy blonde hair to the far left of my vision for a time. But I knew he was still there. When I showered, he would be just out of reach in the bathroom. When I ran around playing, he would follow along, though he never seemed to actually move. He just drifted along beside me, still in that same static, upright pose. When I went swimming at the public pool, he'd be under the water, with his unmoistened hair, floating to my left, still staring at the white of my eye.

No matter where I went or what I did, he would come along for the ride. My dad never brought back up the question I asked him that day, aside from the occasional check-in, to ensure I was staying true to my promise that I would not speak to the question. a word to the mysterious child. Unfortunately, this would bring the knowledge of my passenger to the forefront once more. I'd learn to ignore him for the most part. But should I be reminded or absent-mindedly attempt to chase him down with my eyes, he would consume my thoughts for a while. You know how you get those floaters in your eye and you sort of trace your vision in pursuit of them on occasion?

That's what I felt like. As soon as you acknowledge those damn things. They're all you can see for a while. Imagine that, but with a shaggy blonde kid, who may have been anywhere between five and ten. I couldn't exactly get a full visual of him to narrow down features and the like, but I did try sometimes, especially on those occasions when he was the only thing I could focus on. When my mom died, I was around 18. She'd been through a lot in her life, which had led her to the more than occasional stay in one mental institution or another, but my dad always stood by her side. I never really knew what ailments she suffered from, but on the night after her funeral, my father and I shared our

first drink together, something that would become a tradition in the years that followed. We didn't speak much, as we both gazed off while sipping slowly on the 12-year-old scotch my dad favored over the cheaper one I would grow more accustomed to later in life. Those first swigs burned my throat, but it's not as if this had been my first drink of alcohol. Only the first time I sampled something, other than the cheap beer, my friends would be able to get their hands on. The more I drank, the more I enjoyed it. Of course, the more my head grew light, the more I felt up to discussing what had happened to my mother. Before my dizzy mind could conjure the best words to approach the subject, my dad began to speak, effectively snapping me

back to reality. You still see him? The kid? He still gazed out into the world beyond the window of our living room as he spoke. It almost felt as though he didn't want to look at me. Though that could have been no more than the effects of the booze, inspiring a bit of paranoia in my thoughts. Yeah.

Even right now? Yeah. Naturally, him bringing up the subject caused my eyes to attend to the attention. to chase down the image of the boy, but he followed his normal course of floating away from my pursuing irises. You still haven't talked to him, right? Yeah, I mean, no, I haven't. He just nodded.

He still would not break his stare from the darkened world beyond the glass, but I attempted to meet his gaze nonetheless. Why, like, why shouldn't I, you know, talk to him. him. Just don't. Don't ever. He finally faced me as he barked the words, giving me a look I'd never seen on his face before.

It felt like something between where rage and soul-crushing pain met to my untrained eyes anyway. He still glared at me for minutes after his words caused my hands to tremble, though it almost felt like we were locked in that dead stare for much longer. I knew he was hurting, and I was too, for that matter. My mother had been almost more of a guest star in my life, like a cameo who would come on screen for a few moments. She would stick around for an episode or two, and then disappear until a season or three

down the line. But I can't say I ever really knew her all that well. She spent so much time behind the walls of one hospital or another, be it a medical facility or a psychological one was dependent on the day, it seemed. Surely it was one of her numerous physical ailments that put an end to her life. But I knew as little about those problems as the ones that put such a strain on her mind. I don't imagine it will come as much of a shock to anyone who's been reading along what the truth of her mental anguish was. She saw him too.

My dad said, finally cutting his eyes back to the window. It didn't exactly come as a shock to me either, but it still awakened an array of both rational and completely irrational questions in my head, the first and foremost of which was, Did she talk to him? He returned such a brief and subtle nod. I could barely make it out. A single lamp was the only thing illuminating the room while we sipped from our glasses, but there was still enough light for me to see the boy.

It almost appeared as though he'd nudged a little closer into view. It was as though he stood right in front of the chair my father sat in, as I watched him stare out into the moonlight's glow upon the trees. I thought it may have been no more than the effect of the strong whiskey that had begun to blur my sight, causing single images to blend into multiples. Though the mirage of my dad, just a little behind where he actually sat, was not mimicked by the boy who still stood alone. Just don't.

Don't ever. I won't. I wouldn't. Is that what? I couldn't finish the question, as I felt it required no answer. I was certain that whatever this boy was had somehow driven my mother to the madness that kept her sealed within a padded room for months at a time. Though it terrified me to imagine in what way he had.

accomplished this. Unfortunately, I would eventually find those answers. To this day, I still wish I'd listen to my father on this one. Six years or so after my mother's death, just a couple of weeks ago, some bad decisions, along with a messy breakup, left me in something of a self-pitying and melancholy state. Life wasn't especially bad or anything, just run-of-the-mill stuff, really, But it was enough to leave me a bit broody for a few weeks. My job was fairly decent, and I lived in a pretty nice house for a mid-20s bachelor, but you know how it goes. Things can be overall great, but a few little things can lead to a touch of depression. I had the weekend off and planned to just sit around the house for a couple days, though I had no doubt I'd just be

wallowing the whole time. I'd successfully sat in the same chair for a good three hours straight, Accomplishing nothing more than some solo Netflix. When I got a text from my old college buddy, Jerry. He told me some of the old crew had impulsively gathered up to throw an impromptu party and invited me to join. I considered whether or not I felt like being around others, but since the only company I'd had all day had been the kid in the corner of my eye, I thought it couldn't hurt to drag my lazy ass out into the world for a while.

Jerry texted me the address, and I took a quick shower to get myself cleaned up. I went ahead and arranged an Uber, as I wasn't sure if I'd be fit to drive that night. As soon as I arrived, I was handed two matching beers, one for each hand, one of which I gulped down in one chug. After a while, I was feeling almost blissfully light and carefree. Unfortunately, with good times, there's often something not so good just waiting around the corner. In this case, that was my ex, Mila, arm and arm with Aaron, the guy she ditched me for. I instantly rose from the chair I'd been sitting on for the better part of an hour,

knocking back one after the other. Jerry attempted to hold me back, but I was in Aaron's face, shaking my friend's hand away from my shoulder within seconds. I pushed my ex's new boyfriend, and he took a swing at me. Before I knew it, Mila was crying and screaming, while Aaron and I were carrying on like idiot school kids. He caught me across the jaw, and I slugged him in the gut. He buckled a bit while pushing me over the table that spilled bottles and cans to the floor, along with me. My arms got sliced up a bit as I pushed up from the broken glass on the carpet, and I tackled the big guy. We hit the grounds and I kept punching at his face while my ex attempted to pull me off him. I was so blinded by my hatred that I barely noticed when I caught

her across the jaw when I reared back to knock another dent in my target's face. After I landed the hit, a couple guys pulled me away, and I finally realized what I'd done. I felt awful when I saw her crying. I went to lean down and attempt to help her while practically begging for forgiveness when Jerry pushed me back. Just go, man, he said, pointing to the open door. But I didn't mean to. But you did. Just go. You've done enough. He turned his back to me, leaning over to help

Mila while she sobbed on the floor. I looked around to see every single eye on me, each with their own accusing stare. I felt my face flushed with embarrassment and guilt, and my stomach began to churn. I did what was asked of me, and I took off out the door, not as much as looking back. I had no idea where I was, and I didn't even care. Not only had I hurt the woman I still loved, but I'd very likely broken every one of the bridges between my only friends and I. My head was spinning. My gut was still in knots, but I just kept staggering onwards, not giving too much of a shit if I ever found my way back home. After a while, my legs gave out, and I dropped to the concrete, retching into the ditch to my right. I felt awful,

both physically and emotionally. I just sat there for God knows how long as cars sped one way or the other on the road beside me. Eventually, after having grown repulsed by the scent of the alcohol on my clothes, and even more so by what I'd ralphed into the grass, I finally picked myself back up, pulling my phone from my pocket to arrange a ride back home. I wasn't exactly at an address at the time, so I just strolled to the gas station I saw in the distance and waited for the driver. I didn't reply a single word when the brunette behind the wheel attempted small talk, but I did give her a token, thank you, when she pulled up in front of my house.

I just dropped into my favorite recliner when I got back in, absent-mindedly flipping the the TV on, hoping to distract my troubled thoughts. And it was while I sat there, both feeling sorry for myself, and still nauseous and loopy from the booze, that I mindlessly spoke the words that would change my life from that day on. Stop looking at me! I said to the boy in the corner of my eye, after feeling his stare carve into me for far too long. Perhaps it was that lingering shame of feeling that feeling that.

I was feeling every eye in the living room of my friend's home glaring at me, that caused me to scream out to the child that nobody else could see. Maybe I was still hammered, and I didn't quite realize what I was doing. It could be that somewhere in my chaos-fueled thoughts, I actually wanted to be punished for my actions. Regardless of my reasoning, the penalty began almost immediately. I was only vaguely aware of what I'd done at first, just turning back. to whatever show or movie I'd been attempting to distract myself with, but when the boy leaned

in from the corner of my eye to somewhere much closer to the forefront of my vision, I felt a stabbing pain in the middle of my chest as the realization hit. He was leaned over at the waist, as though he were peeking around a corner. But he was most definitely looking back at me, with wide, colorless, and blank eyes. Had they always been like that? I wondered to myself while I thought to look away. After a while, I gave into my spinning head, passing out on that same chair. When I woke again sometime in the middle of the night, the boy now stood in the dead

center of my vision, still glaring at me with that empty stare. I turned to the left. He followed. the right, he drifted along with me. He looked to be maybe ten feet in front of me, but no matter where I looked, his static pose would not falter. Though my pulse was quickening, with a growing fear that I would now be forced to endure his now being perched before me from now on, I staggered to my bedroom, with a child guiding the path before me. I dropped into my bed, to see him with his back seemingly flat against the ceiling, still staring down at me. And even when I closed my eyes, his image remained, surrounded by the darkened nothingness.

Fortunately, I was still both physically and mentally exhausted, so I found my way back to slumber. But he was waiting for me when I awoke. I'd rolled onto my side through the night, so when I came back to a wall. It looked as though he hovered above the ground sideways. I felt tense all over as I pulled myself free of the blankets, following the boy who faced me in the direction of my bathroom. My shower wasn't large by any means, but it looked as though he was embedded into the tiles while I washed myself.

He stood against the back wall while I dried myself and floated across the floor in front of me as I walked back to my bedroom to fetch some clothes. Even when I held up my phone to place the call to my father, he peered over the top of it. As my finger hovered above the icon of the goofily grinning picture my dad had allowed me to take some years ago, I closed the application. I wasn't quite ready to admit that I'd indeed done the one single thing he warned me against. I attempted to convince myself I could live with this. I gotten used to him being in the corner of my eye.

Surely I could grow accustomed to his new position. I tried to convince myself of this, though my heart continued to beat much faster than usual. As the day progressed, my mind was consumed both by the mess I'd made of all the friendships the previous night, and the child I could no longer escape. I could still see my TV around the kid, but he would not exactly move out of the way enough for me to get a full view. So, still, I hoped I could handle it. Yes, this was bordering on a full-on disability, as I only had partial vision around the little

bastard, but I could deal with it. Sure, I was trembling all over, and I felt as though I had to convince my lungs to continue doing their job, but I could do this. There are far worse ailments that others deal with on a daily basis, after all. That's what I told myself anyway. That day ended the same way, with a boy pressed against the ceiling, but the morning was a little different this time. As I lay on my side, staring at the vacant eyes, the boy began to move.

I sat straight up, unable to look away, and believe me, I tried. His head loosely flipped around as he casually strolled closer towards me. I even tried to back away from him. But that only made it appear as though he was moving in faster. Every muscle in my body tensed as I watched him close the gap between us, with his soundless steps far slower than my racing heart. He stopped around five feet away from me, but he didn't stand still anymore. He swayed from side to side, with his arms lazily swatting his hips, like dangling

pendulums. I even felt my head following him as he idly wobbled from left to right, transfixed by the disturbing image, while the pulse in my neck felt as though it was fit to burst. Now that he was closer, I could see that his skin was somewhat translucent, revealing veins and rippled muscle tissue behind the surface. I'd never paid much attention to his clothing before. But now that he encompassed a far more significant amount of my field of vision, I saw that he was not dressed like someone from this time period. He wore a white short-sleeved, button-up shirt, with a sort of tweed-looking vest, and similarly patterned shorts. His gray socks came about halfway up his shins and down to brown, dressy-looking shoes. All of his clothes appeared to be

layered in dust or soot, but his pale see-through flesh looked abnormally clean in contrast. Even the shaggy, short blonde hair looked clean, albeit a bit messy. Though it was now quite a bit more tricky to see too much around the kid, I still tried to go about my day as I had the previous one, but I was growing more and more afraid that I couldn't handle this. He followed in front of me for every step I took, and though he still was still, he still was still did not completely distract me from myself loathing. He sure as shit didn't help my chaotic thoughts. Part of my mind attempted to convince me I deserve this, but I wouldn't buy into it.

Yes, I'd acted like a complete asshole at the party, but nobody deserves whatever the hell this was. The next day, he moved closer again, stopping only two feet from my face. I could even smell him now. A rancid stench of decaying flesh followed the child. And wherever I attempted to go. On the fourth day, he stopped directly in front of me, and I could swear I felt my nose making contact with his. I screamed out from a combination of fear and exhaustion, unable to control neither my shivering goose flesh nor the pounding in my chest.

I continued to yell and curse. While swatting my hand through the image, I could know. longer even hope to distract myself from. Even when I closed my eyes, though, he was still there, surrounded by only darkness. As the hopelessness of my circumstances began to consume me, I reached my trembling fingers up to my eyes, honestly considering the notion of clawing them from their sockets. I clenched my fist before they made it to their target, but I couldn't escape the idea that this may very well be my only way out of us. It was becoming more and more difficult to breathe, and I remained focused on the boy. He'd appeared maybe a little

over three feet tall before, but his face was right at my own now. Whether he was floating in some way, I couldn't say, as no matter where I looked, all I could see was those lifeless eyes glaring into mine. When I attempted to look down, it was as though his head sprouted from my chest as we still peered nose to nose at one another. Just as I was preparing to finally give in and call my father, things got even more grim, causing me to lose my fight to keep myself from losing consciousness. As I felt around the nightstand for my phone, the child reached his own hands to his face, mimicking the brutal actions I'd almost considered inflicting on myself. He moved so slowly as his fingers dug into the lids

and meat wrapped around the top of his eyes, causing a thick and moist, darkened and foul-smelling liquid to ooze from within. I screamed out once more, in a far more horrified manner than before, as the boy tore away grizzled chunks of flesh, along with a blank and lifeless eyes, dropping his arms to his side when the work was done. Even as he stepped closer to me over the previous days, he was silent. His footsteps did not so much as creak across the floor, but I heard everything he just performed before me. I wretched from both the sounds and sight of what I just witnessed. I gasped for air in between more frantic and frenzied screams, and I finally called my father. I could instantly tell my confession made him both angry and saddened. He came to pick

me up, and he drove me back to the home I used to share with him and my mother back in simpler times. He led me into the house and sat me down upon his couch before fetching me a glass of that same whiskey. After allowing the drink to lighten my head somewhat, my dad shared the story of how the boy drove his wife to the brink of madness and beyond, something that I likely had to look forward to. She was a few years older than you when she talked to him. His voice sounded tired as he spoke, though I couldn't tell what expression he wore, as he was hidden from me, behind the hollowed-out eyes of that young boy.

She'd seen him her whole life. like you. I don't know what drove her to break the silence between them, but it happened quick after that. We'd already been married for some years before then, and I'd heard her talk about him from time to time. How he just stood in the corner since she was a little girl. She even talked to the optometrist about it when she was younger, but they didn't take her seriously. Just talked it up to her imagination. After a few years, she was a few. weeks of the boy being all she could see. I had to check her into the hospital. They kept her for a good many months, but I could visit her most days. You weren't even a whole year

old by that, so you likely don't remember that first time. Corrus, I'm sure you remember some of those later times she was put away. He said, honestly, the memories of my mom were during visitations to one facility or another. When I was quite young, I didn't give it much of a second thought. I just assumed it was normal, or at least not far off it. She always seemed so happy to say me. But now that I really think about it, she rarely actually looked right at me. She'd face me when we spoke, but our eyes would only meet on occasion. Of course, I now understand why. My dad began again. For a while, they found some drugs that helped her. She said he was still there, but he wasn't as solid, almost sort of

see-through. Of course, every different prescription that work for her would only help for little. She got almost a year out of one of them, but others only got her through a few months at best. We'll get you one of those same doctors that helped her. Well, as much as they could anyway. I never told you how she died. I felt my dad's hand on my shoulder, and I reached mine to meet it. He continued, she told me about how things got worse, but I can't say I believed her, or really understood it first. I sometimes wonder if things were worked out differently, if...

Well, it wasn't until that last time she got to come home. that I knew I should have listened. It only ended up being one day, so I didn't even tell you about it, as you were spending the weekend with friends. She seemed so happy to be home at first. She was herself again. But that night, I woke up to the sound of her screaming. I went running to where it came from, and she'd taken a pair of scissors. She thought She could escape him if she couldn't see. The thing is, after that, he was all she could see. I was only vaguely aware of my dad's grip tightening on my shoulder as my trembling

was getting worse. The more he spoke of what my mother endured, the more I realized how screwed I really was. I'd already been terrified before I called my dad. But the more his tale of my mother's suffering progressed, the more I feared for my own sanity. I hadn't been permitted to visit her over that last year, but my dad would still go just about every weekend. He always looked so strained and sad when he'd head out, but I couldn't have known the truth. I felt my father's grip release as he sat down beside me. He wrapped his arm around me. After what she did do herself, she went back to the hospital.

Well, after the emergency room docks did what they could for her. After a few weeks, I was able to visit her again. She wasn't even almost who she used to be. I don't know if the boy was mad because of what she did, or if it was just the next step. But he started hurting her. He began to rot away in front of her. And she said he looked to be getting more and more angry, even though just about all she could see anymore was those empty sockets. Since back in the beginning of her nightmare, she could

still make out where the skin was peeling from his face. She couldn't have known what was coming next until she felt the pain. She said it just felt like punches at first, and only from time to time. She'd wake up in the night after taking a bony fist to the gut or coughing out food she was trying to eat. But it got even worse than that. She said it felt like the bones had pushed through the skin of his fingers when he'd claw at her. She had gashes and bruises all over, but the docs thought she was doing it to herself. They even tried to strap her down so she wouldn't hurt herself anymore. But they'd still find her bleeding by the morning. I'm sure it isn't too hard to figure out by now. But she just couldn't take it anymore.

She'd been locked away for a long time by that point, hidden away behind padded walls. I'd still get to visit her sometimes, but I couldn't let you see her like that. I can't know how she got her hands on enough pills to get the job done, but they said she'd swallowed a good 30 of him. I could practically hear the tears in my father's voice now, and I realized I was crying too. In some ways, I wasn't surprised by what he told me, not about my mother's suicide anyway. I think I'd suspected it. Those other revelations, though, almost caused me to scream out again. From what he said, it could be years before I was that far gone. We talked and cried a little more before the drink left me feeling drowsy again. My father led

me to my old bedroom and I dropped into my childhood bed. Within the days that followed, my dad took me to see my mother's old doctor. Well, one of them anyway. She went through quite a few in her day, but this guy had been the most effective. He prescribed me an antipsychotic. He said it had helped my mother's symptoms. It took a few doses, but within a week, the smell subsided. And just as my dad told me, the boy became somewhat transparent. Yes, he's still there. I can see those hollowed-out eyes every second of every day, but I can also see the world behind him now. It's not perfect, and I'm sure it won't last, but I'll try to take it, until I can't anymore.

I'm still far beyond scared, but things are a bit more tolerable for the time being. I don't know what this is, why my mother and I were cursed with it, nor who the hell this kid even is, but I can only hope there's a way of avoiding my mother's fate. I have no way of knowing if there's any chance of escape, but I have to find out what I can about him and why he appears to be set on punishing my family. If there's a way out of us, it has to be hidden behind the identity of the boy. My father said it will help me look for answers, though he'd attempted this very investigation during the years my mom was alive.

I have to try, though. I may never locate the truth behind all of this, but if I should, I'll post what I find. If it happened to us, it's very possible it could happen to others too, though. It's probably a long shot, but if anyone reading these words knows who or what he is, or whatever the curse is, please help me. It's only a matter of time before the world beyond the boy who used to dwell in the corner of my eye is hidden away from me for good. I don't know if I have the strength my mother had.

I doubt I'll survive for long when the medication stopped working. But just please trust me on this. If you should see the little boy in the corner of your eye, don't make the same mistake that I did. Never speak a word to him.