Lighthouse Horror Podcast - When My Grandmother Moved Here From Ireland, Something Terrifying Came With Her | Scary Stories

Episode Date: August 28, 2023

It's real... Story from GreyBuildings679 Make sure to check out more of their work at u/GreyBuildings679                     Original Post: The Thing They Carried : r/nosleep                         Original YouTube link: When My Grandmother Moved Here From Ireland, Something Terrifying Came With Her   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 scary stories, new true stories, and new creepypasta stories every day!

My grandma was a formidable woman. She stood at a good six feet tall, with broad shoulders and a significant girth that would make a linebacker jealous. She'd immigrated from Ireland when she was a young girl. Her family settling into the western part of Washington along the Pacific, and buying up swaths of land that accumulated into a sizable property of over 110 acres. She was partially handicapped, her right hand mangled, the pinky, ring, and middle fingers worn stumps streaked with accumulated red scar tissue. It was a sore subject, and one she refused

to discuss with me, despite my rampant curiosity. I would unintentionally stare at the mass of flesh sometimes, and she would lower her gaze and make a tutting sound, scolding me. My father and she were never particularly close. He'd been sent to boarding school as a child, and I don't think he ever fully forgave her for his exile, when he lost his job, and with no other eyes. options, we were forced to move in with her, a fact that we all begrudgingly accepted. Grandma's house in itself was a marvel, an old Victorian with ornate wood carvings and painted in a dark crimson. It stood in the center of a sprawling field of wildflowers and native grasses that was bordered by old-growth forest. The towering trees that called it home had escaped

the genocide of the Washington logging boom and held with them an ancient quality of some bygone era, demanding reverence. About a mile into the woods was a pristine river, with clear waters that held a variety of fish, making it a prime fishing spot. I'd read the adventures of Huckleberry Finn in my last year of school, and fancied myself like the book's protagonist, relishing in my new environment, and even asking my dad and grandma to start calling me Huck instead of my given name Luke, a request that made my dad roll his eyes and put his head into his hands. The three of us operated like separate cogs in a machine that summer, with our own specific purposes that required little interaction with each other. Focused on applying for jobs, my dad locked himself away in his

office, whereas my grandma had her own routine. A bizarre set of rituals she completed every morning without fail. It would start with making a hearty porridge mixed with nuts and berries. which was laid by the base of a small oak tree, she would then stand facing towards the woods and write small notes on paper before burying them in the earth. The last and most peculiar of all ceremonies was when she would then unravel a spool a spool of red thread, circling the border of the house, intertwining it in between the trees. She used the same string to make my dad and I bracelets, which she adorned around our wrists. When I would question her behavior, she would give me a small smile, and say,

Mind your business now, Luke. As for myself, I let my imagination run wild, making games for myself to keep occupied, sometimes even going to the creek to try and catch a fish. There were not many people nearby, let alone kids I could play with. Grandma's neighbors to the south had a daughter my age, around 14 with frizzy hair and freckles named Maggie. I was coming to the age where girls were just starting to get my attention and felt a slight wave of nausea when I saw her. Butterflies in my stomach. I didn't have a car to take me anywhere or money to spend. As such, I was grateful when Maggie would drop by whenever she could escape her chore so that we could hang out. It was a scorcher of a day in early July, and after playing outside in the morning,

I was laying down on my back in the living room, staring at the ceiling and marinating in my own sweat. Grandma came through, holding a hamper of wet laundry, and took her foot poking me in the ribs. Come on now, Luke, no point waste in the day. Help me hang the washing outside. While the house had a dryer, she was insistent on air drying, claiming the sun made the clothes smell better. Rolling over on my stomach, I let out a moan of protest before following, The line was tied up by the side of the house between two magnificent oak trees, red string tied at their bases. The pins are in the coffee bin over there," Grandma said, indicating with her chin. It was what she called a white laundry day, the one time of the month when she would clean

all our sheets and the tablecloths. I took a handful of pins stringing up the ivory and beige linens, which billowed around me like dancing ladies. When I knew it, I knew it, I'd I needed more. I went back to the bucket, looking up as I did. To my surprise, I saw my grandma walking in the distance towards the woods. Her back turned to me. Curious, and abandoning my laundry duties, I scampered after her. She was a good quarter mile away from me, but walking painfully slow. Grandma! Grandma, wait up! I yelled. She was standing toward the periphery of the woods, her graying white hair braided and flapping behind her like a dog's tail. I felt something seized my wrist, and like a boomerang I snapped back, craning my neck.

It was grandma, clenching tight. No further now, Luke, no further. Was I dreaming? My eyes went back to the figure in front of me, standing still. I sucked in my breath, turning again to the figure. familiar face of my grandma. Her eyes were wide, the white-stained red from broken blood vessels. She pulled me away, back in the direction of the house, her good hand like a vice around my arm. Walking away, I felt a cool breeze graced the back of my neck that sent a shiver of goosebumps

down my arm. I let my gaze wander, returning to the person or thing still by the woods. This time it was faced towards me. Her visage, just like my grandma's, except for an insidious smile unfurling. I didn't say anything for the rest of the day and remained quiet during dinner, which was a gooey stew of potatoes and beef. My dad ate heartily, declaring it his favorite meal, placing his hands on his protruding belly. Go on, dear, grab a beer and watch some telly. I'll tuck Luke in. Grandma said with a sly eye, she brought up a large mug of tea, placing it on my nightstand, and sat on the corner of my bed. She rubbed her two remaining fingers together on her right hand and looked at me curiously. You seen what I've been doing around the house every morning,

have you, Luke? Yes, Grandma. I said, watching as her keen eyes narrowed in concentration. I need to tell you a story of sorts, but I'm going to need you to pay attention, just like if you were at school. Can you do that for me?" I nodded my head. When I was young, maybe just a bit younger than you, my family and I moved here from Ireland. The reason we left our home was that my dad did something very, very bad. Grandma let out a sigh.

When we came here, we carried something with us. It wasn't our luggage or anything we could see. We didn't even know how we brought it. I learned to think of it like a disease, a cold. Except it didn't go away. My sister and I, in rudimentary terms, called it the isn't. The isn't? I repeated.

On account, we are the is. She said, bringing up her hand to her chest and placing it on her cherry-colored nightgown and then resting it on my knee. And the thing you saw out by the woods today is the isn't. I need you to pay attention real close now. There are three ways that the isn't shows itself, three different forms. The first being what you saw today, a person will come out of the woods on one side, walk across the field and go into the forest again. Sometimes it'll be someone you know,

other times it won't, but they'll always be moving slow. They don't talk or go anywhere else, but that invisible straight line. Sometimes they'll stick out their hand as if they're asking you to take it. Whatever you do, make sure you don't take that hand. Do you understand me? Yes, I said. My mind was racing with questions, but I was hanging on to every word. The second way the isn't will come is through a nasty man that sometimes lingers by the property. I wouldn't want you talking to any strangers, but this man in particular. I only seen him a couple of times, but he smells something awful, like sulfur and fruit past its prime. Be wary, as he's a tricky fella.

He'll try and bargain with you, get you to trade something for something else. No matter what he has, whether it be gold coins or gemstones the size of my head, don't you dare trade with him. You'll have to say, I won't trade before he'll go on his way. I felt sick to my stomach, overwhelmed. The dinner from earlier began to gurgle and bubble in my stomach. I could feel the warm liquid entering my throat. The last, and the most horrible in my opinion, is what the isn't will be like when it walks

across the field. But this time it'll talk. Just as I'm talking to you here right now, it'll be an exact likeness. An undetectable difference. I remember one time I spent all day talking to a friend in my father's in the woods. Turned out it was the isn't, and I was none the wiser. Grandma cleared her throat, and her voice lowered. There's a cave, about two miles from the river.

It's hidden, and if you walked by it, you might not even see it. But it runs deep. Real deep. If I had to guess, that's where the isn't lives. When the isn't comes in its third form, it'll try to convince you to follow it into the cave. Don't follow it, no matter what. I bit my lip, feeling my body tremble, my heart raised under my cotton pajamas. What happens? What happens if you take the hand, of the isn't, or bargain, or follow it into the cave. What happens? There was a weariness about my grandma. Her shoulders slumped forward. She let out a deep breath, about to say something when my dad called, "'A, ma, the dishwasher's acting up again,' he said, his loud voice bellowing from downstairs. She got up from the bed, moving to the doorframe, hesitating before she

left. If any of those things happen, I won't be able to save you, Luke. I was riddled with anxiety with this newfound information and became increasingly anxious as I went about my days, always looking behind my shoulder, jumping at the slightest noise. Maggie lost her patience with me, saying that I reminded her of frayed rope and marching off towards her home. The first time I saw the isn't again, I went running back into the house, locking my door, and cowering underneath the covers. The second time, I ran inside, but held my breath, looking out the window as it went past. The third time, I went about my business, all but ignoring the intrusion.

The isn't tended to materialize at odd hours at the brink of dawn or late at night, as it appeared The birds, crickets, and all the other chatty wildlife would go mute, as if they sensed something abnormal. Something wrong in their presence. The isn'ts had a clear preference towards my grandma's form, though sometimes it would be someone unrecognizable. A young girl, an old man, one time a wobbling toddler. I admittedly became complacent, underestimating the isn't.

I got cocky. Leaning against one of the oak trees, I was staring out into the field when a young, heavy-set woman, stark, naked, came into view. Her greasy hair clung to her bulging back fat that trembled as she moved. Her hands were clasped by her sides. She was moving with a sense of urgency. And for a moment, I questioned if it was the isn't or a real person. As the isn't approached the woods on the other side, she turned, pushing out her hand,

as if she was willing, almost daring me to take it. I smirked, puckering my lips, taunting the invite. The woman's face remained unchanged as she began to convulse, her jello-like body violently moving back and forth, twisting, and bending her back, till her head was almost level with her knees. All the while her eyes bearing into me, never break in contact, as she propelled herself into the forest. I was unnerved and retreated back to the house. I didn't see the isn't for a week after that. In the meantime, I began seeing Maggie Moore, who asked me to take her into town for a movie. I agreed, not wanting to admit to myself that I was going on a date.

The day of our big date arrived and that after I got my fishing gear heading to the creek and parking myself under a large cedar tree, casting my line into the moving waters. My eyes felt heavy. The warm, glittering sun rays came down from atop the forest canopy. I dozed off. I awoke to a smell, a brutal and pungent combination of sulfur and rotten fruit that filled my nostrils, making my insides quake.

Upright, I surveyed my surroundings. In a moment of confusion, my panic subsided, as everything around me looked normal. From where I was seated, the river pushed up against the bank on the other side, which stood about a foot taller, constructed of rocks and exposed tree roots withered away by the erosion. The trees opposite to me were blackened and mangled, deceiving my eyes to what was hidden amongst them. Just as my heart was, rate was beginning to drop, I saw a man standing across from me. He was camouflaged into the environment, clothed in decaying, matted clothes. He was skinny, gawky, and bent. His limbs elongated, and his body contorted in an unnatural way. Worst of all was his face. Like his

garments, his skin was weathered, with a consistency of tissue paper, pale, and his face. to a light-sickly green that his hollowed black eyes shone out from. He sauntered to the edge of the bank. He moved like a marionette, as if invisible strings were pulling at extremities, making them flail about in multiple directions. That sure is a nice fish, he said. His voice deep and cluttered like he was gurgling stones as he spoke. From my position, my eyes were, eyes went to the rod in front of him. On the hook was a fat, wiggling trout. A lapse of excitement and joy provided a needed alleviation from the isn't. As I pulled it onto the shore, basking in the glory of my catch, it was the biggest I'd caught yet, maybe a ten-pounder.

I'm mighty hungry, the gray-faced man said, opening his mouth. He had only several yellowed teeth that looked like they were just hanging on by a string of skin. He stuck out his tongue, wide, white, and bristly, making a smacking sound as it circled his lips. Sorry, I said, heeding my grandma's advice not to trade, and I began to pack up my gear, anxious now to get away from the isn't. His mouth had become downturned, staring at me blankly. His expression reminded me of a look my neighbor's dog had when I finished a bit of food without giving him many.

But I got so many things. The man opened his jacket and out fell a pile of golden coins plopping into the water. His hand disappeared into his jacket pocket, retrieving a diamond the size of a baseball, shining in the light with clarity. you say, anything you want. My mind went numb, seeing the treasures, continuing to pile in front of him. My eyes clung to gold as I drifted, thinking about bringing it home to my dad, telling him we wouldn't need to worry about money or him getting a job now, that we'd be okay.

And all that, just for a fish. It seemed foolish not to take the man up on a his offer, downright stupid. He came closer, stepping down from the ridge with a long leg into the water and propelling himself a foot away from where I was standing. His smell was even more poignant than before. Up close, it became clear that the deteriorating flesh on his face was moving, festering with insects and maggots. Their outlines indents underneath the skin. I caught my breath. No, thank you, I said, spinning around, heading back towards home. Ahead, I could see the clearing of the field when my view became blocked by a shadow.

It was him again, this time leaning against a tree. His face turned toward me in a crooked grin. I'm hungry. Please feed me. He pleaded, sliding. to the ground and crawling on all fours like a wounded animal. Be merciful. No, I said, crying now. I was petrified.

The gray-faced man changed his demeanor, snarling. His chin jutted out. Oh, come on, you little shit-eating maggot. He jumped back onto his feet, creeping towards me. Give me the fish, or I'll slice you open. He began to laugh, a wicked cackle that made my blood run cold. He was singing, gut you open like fish, eat all your tiny bits, your eyes, your nose, your juicy toes. Your goopy brain, I'll eat it up. Feed myself till I'm stuffed, till there's nothing left of you, lick your bones till they're clean, throw them back to the stream. A line of drool fell from his mouth. He was licking and smacking away.

Here, I said, and panicked I threw the fish in him, leaving my rod behind and veering away. I ran hard till I was out of breath and my ribs hurt. Gasping, I made my way out of the forest. I could see Grandma's red house and shot myself towards its direction. Stumbling towards the entrance, I heard my name. Luke. Turning my head. There was Maggie.

She'd straightened her unruly hair and was wearing a light blue summer dress. She looked as lovely as a cold pitcher of lemonade on a hot summer day. In the midst of everything, I'd forgotten about our date. But I didn't feel well. I just don't feel so good, I said. I didn't know what to say, so I looked at the ground avoiding eye contact with her. Hey, don't worry about it. Why don't we do a picnic tomorrow?

She said. You can make the sandwiches, though. I'll come by around noon. She waved goodbye. I declined dinner that night and took a shower, the water scalding hot. I scrubbed myself till my skin was pink. As the water washed over me, I ran through the events of the day. I didn't break any rules.

I didn't trade with the isn't, the strange, gray-faced man. I should be fine. I repeated the words like a lullaby. A storm had come in. The rain was splattering on the window pane, as thunder murmured not too far away. I couldn't sleep as I lay on the bed. eyes open, when I smelt it again, that rotten egg smell. Stumbling out of bed, I went to the window, looking out onto the field and squinting to see if I could see the isn't. There was a loud

thump below me. Looking downwards, I jumped back. Clinging to the base of a swinging tree was the gray-faced man, holding and climbing upwards, his munty. monstrous limbs bent like a daddy long legs. He shot me a smile, his mouth opening with those horrible, jagged teeth. I fell, hitting the wood flooring and scooting to the wall where I sat paralyzed. Amongst the hallowing wind there was a sound of scurrying. He was inching his way closer. A loud boom of thunder was followed by lightning that lit up the sky. And as it did, the gray-faced man came into view in front of my window. I tried to scream, but I couldn't. My throat sealed shut.

My window being opened emitted a sharp squeaking sound as a gust of wind forced its way in, along with that terrible smell. And there he was. His neck extended in my room, drool and rain dripped onto the floor. From his pocket, he took out the trout from earlier. Good eats, he said, ripping into the fish's flesh, chunks of meat scattered onto his clothes and his face. He sucked away at its eyes, popping them into his mouth, licking the dead carcass. Extending his arm, he opened his hand, revealing a palm full of precious gems. colors, colorful rubies, emeralds and sapphires that glistened in the dark.

Trade, he said, gurgling. Something clicked inside my head. No, no, I screamed. I don't want to trade with you. As I said it, the lights in his eyes went out, like a candle being extinguished. He slunk back from the window, retreat. greeting into the night. Heaving with tears running down my face, the door of my bedroom was flung open. My dad went for the light switch, flooding my room in warm yellow light. Luke, what the hell? He looked at me. His face contorted in concern. A dead fish lay on the wet

floor. Later, I pressed my ear against the door, as I could hear my father yelling at my grandma that night as the storm raged on. I only caught bits of it. You pulled the same shit on me when I was younger. How dare you scare him, terrorize him with your bullshit? You'll never see us again. The next morning the weather subsided, and there seemed to be a relative peace on the house. Sitting at the breakfast table, my eyes went back and forth between my grandma and dad like a ping-pong ball. trying to glean some indication of what had happened. When my dad put his breakfast played in the sink, retreating upstairs, my grandma whose gaze had been downwards, met my stare, and indicated for us to go outside.

I told her what had happened with a gray-faced man near the river and the night before. She made a tutting sound when I mentioned how I gave him the fish. When I was done talking, she let out a sigh. You got lucky, my Luke. The isn't seems to be more brazen than from what I remember. Never seen it come by the house, not even close. She picked up a wet piece of string on the ground, examining it. I promised your dad I wouldn't hang the red thread anymore.

The isn't doesn't like red. Towards the tree line, a figure emerged. It was the isn't. In my grandma's form. I'd become so used to it by now. I didn't even bat an eye. Can't we show him? I said.

I mean, if he sees you here and he isn't over there that looks like you, he'll have to believe it's real. Won't he? I'm afraid trying to show him anything now will just make him angrier. There was a sadness in her eyes. And just so you know, that's not my form the isn't as used. I looked to her, confused. It's my twin sister, Margaret's form.

She was touching her mutilated right hand as she spoke. I knew that my grandma had a sister, but not that they were twins. The isn't took her when we were barely thirteen. A tear slid down her cheek, and she held up her right hand, sticking out her two remaining fingers. And it almost got me, too. I found out about the cave the hard way, Grandma said. My sister and I had seen the isn't walking through the field and had come across the trading

man. We thought we understood it in all its ways and forms that we could outwit it. Then one day we were in the woods, playing by the creek, when my dad's friend came upon us. He was a nice man who'd helped when we moved in, came around dinner once a month or so. He told us he wanted to show us something. Silly girls, we followed him to the cave, like little puppies. We'd taken a few steps inside when I felt something grab my hand and heard my sister cry

in pain. There was a chuckle deep in the dark as it drew us closer. away at us. I think if I was on my own I wouldn't have stood a chance, or if I didn't happen to be wearing red that day. I fought, and he isn't let me go, not without taking something very dear to me, my fingers. I held my breath, and Grandma gave me a pat on the shoulder. It wears the forms of the ones it keeps. Sometimes when he is The isn't comes as Margaret. I'll catch a glimpse of her.

The real her. It's a feeling more than anything else. Like she's still there, living inside it. It's why I leave the porridge out every morning, her favorite meal, just in case she gets hungry, just in case there's ever a way to get her back. Has the isn't ever eaten it? I asked. A few times, it probably means nothing.

But I gotta keep hoping, Luke. Grandma's rituals were beginning to make sense. The isn't was scared of red thread. Grandma left out the porridge for Margaret. What about the pieces of paper she wrote on every day? What about the notes I asked? Grandma tilted her head. I suppose that's more for me.

I write down prayers, thoughts really. anything I can remember about her. I saw someone do it in Ireland once. They said it would help them find what was lost. She drifted off looking in the distance towards the isn't that was disappearing back into the woods. It's been a long night, Luke. I think I'm going to go lay down.

She got up walking back into the house. And remember, if you come across the isn't as the trading man again, you get to the other, Don't give him anything." I continued to sit there alone, staring out into the forest in front of me, though still shaken from the night before and the strangeness of the isn't. At least I knew all its ghastly tricks, a notion that put me at relative ease. I went inside to start making sandwiches for the picnic Maggie and I had planned for later that day.

At noon, I stood waiting on the porch. I found an old basket, placing the two egg salad sandwiches and several bottles of coke inside it. I saw Maggie walking up the road and began heading in her direction. It's hot out, she said, shading her face from the sun. Let's find some shade. Taking my hand, she led me against my reservations into the woods. I couldn't tell her about the isn't and didn't want to seem like a baby, so I held my tongue.

After walking for a little while, she found a spot that suited her, and we sat down to eat. When we were done, she laid down on the grass turning her head towards me. Her hair fanned out on the ground. We shared a kiss. And then Maggie said she'd be right back, standing up, Coke bottle and hand. My heart was beating fast as I felt a wave of excitement rush over me. Looking over my shoulder, I couldn't see Maggie and was anxious for her return. Then I smelled something.

Standing up, I began walking in the direction I'd seen her go just minutes before. I heard her voice, and rounding a corner she was in front of me, a wide smile on her face. In her hand where the Coke bottle used to be was the fishing rod I dropped yesterday. Some guy just traded me the rest of my Coke for this. She said, holding it up. I mean, it's weird but kind of cool. She took a step towards me, but something was behind her. The gray-faced man with a grin.

He grabbed Maggie by the waist. Hey, let me go, you creep. Treat! Said the isn't, tightening his grip, and she let out a sharp moan of pain. Good eats, said the gray-faced man, pulling Maggie even closer, and she let out a sharp moan of pain. towering above her. He slid out his disgusting white tongue, slobbering and gumming at Maggie's neck. She cried out in protest. When he released himself, her shoulder was covered in a mucus-like substance. Trade for her.

Luke, help me, Maggie pleaded, tears running down her face. I shook my head and began to cry. I'm so sorry, Maggie. I can't. What? Please help me. She wailed, which turned into screams as the isn't began to hurt her. Trade, he said again, and I looked downwards unable to bear it anymore.

I heard a crunch and screaming as blood. splattered across my face. Her cries turned into pleading, lessening in their intensity, and then just ragged breathing and wheezing. At last, all that was left was the sound of chewing. And then I ran without looking back, tears in my eyes as I made my way home. Thoughts raced through my mind. How would I tell my grandma, Maggie's pain. parents, how could I tell them I did nothing to save her? I was a coward. I screamed in frustration, hurling myself from the forest towards the field.

I felt arms around me. Someone caught me. And when I looked up, it was my grandma, holding on to me with ferocity. Thank God you're okay. She wrapped me close, and I let out a wail. I saw you walking into the woods with the isn't, and I'd dance. I am near lost my mind. I took a step back. What?

It took me a minute. I haven't seen the isn't use my sister's form like that in over sixty years. She held out a photo in her trembling hand. It was old, black and white. It was two girls identical in every way. Both of them looked exactly like Maggie. You mean Maggie wasn't real? She wasn't is.

Maggie, grandma said the name softly. Gosh, she sighed. That was Margaret's nickname. I sat down, relieved and disgusted. I told my grandma everything. I don't know what to think, I said. I felt empty and depleted as if my whole body had been emptied out. How can you know what's real here?" I said.

Maggie, I mean Margaret, she seems so much like a person. I felt myself blush, remembering our kiss. It's why I gave you the bracelets of the red string, Luke," Grandma said, looking at me. From now on always wear it and don't trust anyone around here who doesn't. A laughter came from the woods, and we both turned towards the sound, standing still. The trees shimmied in the wind, the leaves rustled. In the depths of the forest, I thought I could see two yellow eyes looking back at me. We're dealing with something very evil here, said Grandma.

It's funny how you learn to take things for granted. How I thought I was the only one that mattered. My universe was so limited. I reeled in the revelation of Maggie, making sure to stay out of the woods. Grandma spent more and more time weaving her red string around the house, immersed in her rituals. We both didn't pay attention. For a moment, it felt like the isn't might be done with us, like a weight had been lifted. A month after my first encounter with a gray-faced man, things on the property were quiet. There was a sense of normalcy. I started going fishing by the creek again.

I was alert, but I felt safe. I was coming back from fishing with no prize in tow when I saw my dad tinkering with a car. Looking up in me, he waved me over. No luck, huh? I shook my head. They're not biting today. My dad wiped his hands on his shirt. Hey, you want to go for a walk?

I've been cooped up all day applying for jobs I could use just a little break. Sure, I said. And we went towards the woods. Dad started talking, saying how sorry he was for leaving me alone all summer, that he had some good leads and that we'd be able to get out of here soon. I don't mind it here, I said, and it was true, even with everything that had happened. You're a good kid, Luke. Sometimes my mom, though, well, she just drives me crazy, with all the nonsense she talks about.

Thanks for putting up with it all. I'm proud of you, bud. You're turning out to be a fine young man. A sense of pride filled me, and I puffed out my chest a little. We continued walking. I wasn't really paying attention to where we were going. When my dad held out his arm, blocking me from going. any further. Well, would you look at that? Directly in front of us was a large rock embedded into

the foot of a hill. There was an opening in front of us. It was a cave. I felt my blood run cold. Dad, let's get out of here. I said, taking a step back. What, are you kidding? Look how cool this is. Come on, don't be a baby. He took my hand. And I looked. looked down. What happened to your bracelets? The ones Grandma gave you. The red ones. There was a quizzical look on his face. I told you, Vuk. I don't believe in all that crazy shit. He pushed his head forward. Come on, bud. Let's go. I let go of his hand, moving away from him, tears falling down my face. You got him. Didn't you?

Well, it's your loss, Luke. He said. With a grin, the isn't disappeared into the cave. You sure you don't want to join me? It sure is cool in here. You're missing out, bud. Then there was another voice, but this time it was Maggie's. Please help me, Luke.

It's so dark in here. From the cave, a deep laugh erupted, starting low and then building, till the cavernous sides began to quake. I let out a yelp, high-tailing it back to my grandma's house. And when I got there, I flung open the doors to my dad's office. It was covered in a thin layer of dust, and he was gone. I ran outside calling for my grandma, screaming for her. She was in the garden and came around to the front. And as she did, the isn't emerged from the woods, in my father's form, walking that invisible

line across the field. Grandma let out a howl and fell to her knees. The isn't still comes to us, though not as often. We keep to our routines. Every morning, Grandma and I tie up the red string around the trees. creating our barrier. We now place two bowls of food outside, one of porridge, the other of beef stew. We write our notes to the ones we've lost, the ones we've loved, placing them in the earth to remember them. I'll keep writing notes like this, Dad. These words are for you, just in case you're still out there.

Just in case there's ever a way back for you. Just in case what's lost can be found. I'll keep trying. I'll always keep trying.