The Tape Library - Archive of the Paranormal & the Unexplained - Scary Stories on a Rainy Night

Episode Date: September 19, 2022

Get comfortable, it’s a dark rainy night and I've got some scary stories to tell you. Relax as you listen to terrifying tales, true paranormal encounters and new writings from up and coming horror writers. Scary stories with the sound of rain falling in the background, giving you the perfect ambience to fall asleep to, if you can... So dim the lights, and get comfortable for another entry into The Tape Library. You can check out The Tape Library in video form on Youtube - www.youtube.com/thetapelibrary CREDITS - If you enjoy the stories, be sure to go to these links and give the writers some love and check out the rest of their work Forge Lane - https://www.reddit.com/r/Ghosts/comme... Should I stop where I am or should I keep walking? - https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comm... The Ghost Girl and Her Nanny (From the co-host of spine chillers and serial killers) - https://www.reddit.com/r/Ghoststories... https://twitter.com/SCSK_podcast Why I Stopped Telling Ghost Stories - https://www.reddit.com/r/Ghoststories... The Blackbirds Song - https://www.reddit.com/r/scarystories... I do not own the rights to the above stories, all rights are retained by the original authors and presented here with their permission. Please do not copy/repost any of these stories without prior consent from the original authors. All additional stories ©TheTapeLibrary All stock footage and additional audio courtesy of Envato Tiktok - https://www.tiktok.com/@thetapelibrar... Instagram - https://www.instagram.com/thetapelibr... Archive of the Paranormal, the strange and the unexplained. The Tape Library brings you the creepiest stories, to keep you horror junkies up all night. True tales of ghosts, cryptids, UFOs and true crime. #scarystories #nosleep #creepypasta Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

It's raining. It wasn't supposed to rain, but there it is. What a dark, cold, miserable night. I guess we won't be going outside. Not that you have much choice anyway. But I suppose if we're both trapped here for a while. And I might as well tell you a few stories. Stories of true life, paranormal encounters.

Terrifying tales. to keep you awake all night. And maybe even a few that will make you question everything. Get comfortable or as comfortable as you can get

in your current circumstances. Hold in the lights and we'll get started on our first story. After many years of having wrote this but always forgetting to post and constantly losing my draft. I finally managed to share with you

my account of the one and only time I have seen a ghost. This is my own true paranormal experience. I've always considered myself to be a calm, rational and logical person. And so when it came to the paranormal, I was always on the fence. That is, until this day occurred. This incident happened several years ago in August 2016. I was driving to meet up with my girlfriend and get food. I'll never forget glancing down at the clock to notice the time was past 8.30, with the sun beginning to set.

Against my better nature, I stupily decided to take a shortcut and drive through a notoriously haunted road. Some background information. This road is situated exactly behind a huge cemetery where I have many family members buried, and a crematorium. I personally knew two people that died in a car crash around here. However, I have been down this road many times over the years and never experienced anything

even remotely paranormal until now. There's actually two adjoined long stretches of road, forge lane and park lane, that make up this journey, which used to be national speed limit roads. This means that in the UK, you are legal to drive up,

up to speeds of 60 miles per hour, the limits on these particular roads have been changed and lowered since. Therefore, that should make you aware that I am focused, alert and have my wits about me. In addition, these roads have absolutely zero streetlights. The only form of lights are the small cat eye reflectors that's built into the middle of the road to reflect car headlights and show the path. Lastly, there are no pavements or sidewalks on these roads. This is important for later. I'm cautiously driving at a high speed and completely in tune with my surroundings. We continue moving along and quickly end up reaching halfway between these two connected roads. It's a point where the trees on each side of the road form into a sort of tunnel which only add to the eerieness.

As I go through, I'm heading towards the end of the tunnel. I suddenly see a masculine figure in the distance up ahead, so as any sane driver would do when they spot a person in the middle of the road, I instinctively took my foot off the acceleration, but it's at that exact moment that I quickly remember there are no pavements for the pedestrians to walk on. And on top of that, it's a 60-mile-per-hour road. My mind instantly went into overload.

I started to go for a series of questions in my head. At the same time as this, I feel an absolute flood of emotions and an impending sense of dread begin to creep in. But I remind myself that I need to remain calm, driving on this dangerous, unlit road. As I get closer to within less than 50 yards, I can finally make out a bit more detail. It's now that my emotion,

really start running wild. My hands are shaking, tears are rolling down my face and I'm beginning to sweat profusely, eventually. I start coming to terms with what's in front of me and in trying to hastily debunk this whole scenario in my head failed to come up with a clear or logical answer. I'm in a state of pure shock and disbelief with what I am seeing in front to me. I see a hooded, brown-robed figure. No face. No feet. He is literally in the middle of the road, hovering. Then, almost as if he sensed that I was coming closer. I'm now less than 10 yards than within distance of hitting him. He drifts to the side of the road into some nearby bushes, and then completely vanishes. I barely maintain my composure long enough to drive to the end of the road

where I park up. I was speechless. My face had gone so pale when I was drenched in sweat, with tears still coming out of my eyes. For the next few minutes, I just sat there in shock, trying my hardest to comprehend what I had seen. But the truth is that there were no reflections or anything of the sort that could have caused a visual misinterpretation.

There were no paths for a random person to enter this section of road. any interference from other external sources were ruled out and no headlamps from any cars coming in the opposite direction whatsoever i eventually after what seemed like an eternity began processing in my mind that the only thing i could come up with was that i had just witnessed a full body apparation of a brown-robed benedictician monk and do you know what the funniest thing was My girlfriend was there for the journey, but she was looking down at her mobile phone the whole time. It all happened so fast, and with me being gobsmacked at the time, I couldn't even open my mouth to tell her what was going on right in front of us. She did, however, end up having her own experience after I drove down the same road again, some time later. The whole experience left such a deep and lasting impact on me that I began doing a bit of background research in she. to the whole of the surrounding area.

As time passed, I eventually managed to discover two very specific details about the area. An actual monastery once existed there, dating back to the 12th and 13th century. I stumbled upon a website dedicated to my city. It's just a generic website about the history of it. However, I managed to find a thread. The topic was about ghost locations in and around it.

And so finally, having browsed through some 12 pages, I find a comment by a person mentioning sight-ins by multiple people of a monk in the exact same location. It's been a few weeks since it happened, and I haven't really come to the full realization of what that day has made my life into. It's a living hell, or maybe it's an empty husk of what it once was. I know that writing the story out will help me to get my thoughts out in a somewhat coherent way so here's the trauma and psychology practices it happened back in August near the beginning of the month it was dark out and I was riding my bicycle just to clear my head

things weren't going so great at home and a braver was needed my mumma called me with an update on my dad's treatment. She said he might not make it. He might be gone by the end of this month. She also didn't seem too well off either. I tried to calm her, but she seemed almost in a daze throughout the whole phone call. I probably sounded like a desperate, annoying mess,

trying to tell her to calm down, especially when her husband of 25 years is about to pass her. away. No, the man was not my blood-related dad, but he was still family in my eyes. He did so much for me, more than my actual father has ever done. I still held out hope for his recovery, but I wasn't sure he'd make it. That's what led me to the decision of a night bike ride, as I peddled and felt the wind slapping against my face, blowing my hair backwards, and I was a little bit of a night bike ride. And I was a shifting my hoodie from side to side. I felt slightly alive once again, as though the world was not literally falling apart at my feet. I had a sudden bout of panic as I came back to reality and realised

that I had no idea where I was. I looked around at a loss for how I even got to where I was. I heard no sounds. It was very dark. The only things making sounds, were my own low jagged breaths. The tyres of my bike, the light fixtures buzzing with electricity, and random garbage spread throughout the ground. I stopped my peddling and stood in place, as I tried to gather where I was and approximately how far I had ridden from home.

At least, that was the plan. However, when I looked back at where I'd just come from, come from. I found a black void of darkness sitting there. It felt almost inky and alive is the best way to describe. I got a spine-chilling feeling of being watched and I slowly began to ride to the only area where the light was. There was a hidden alleyway. I got a burst of relief because if there was an alley, then there must be stores close by, which means a location marker probably is nearby for me to get back home before early morning hit. As I rode, I felt this hazy and relaxing mellowness fall over my head. I was getting tired is what I acquainted the feeling to.

Now, I'm not so sure that's what the feeling meant anymore. I found a road and sped down it once again, enjoying the wind slapping me in the face. There were so many big, glaring red flags that somehow were not picked up on by me, and I have no idea how I didn't realize sooner. But once I stopped on a street that is usually populated, I realized extremely fast. Where were all the people? I looked around in amazement, but I continued on my merry way, thinking it was nothing more than a night time, making it less populated.

after that usually populated street, which was a semi-home stretch marker for me, found a chicken place that I had a golden horse statue in front of it, which was another location marker for me. It meant I was close to home. I rode until I passed a small bus station and got ready to carry my bike back up to my apartment. I carried it with heed, and once it was over, I was so out of breath. I lay down on the couch. At this point I was so tired

I didn't care about much else other than sleep, so I grogly made my way to my bed. In the morning I woke up, still feeling groggy, but also this really warm, hazy feeling, as though moving would literally be wasteful of my energy.

But I forced myself up. Though I didn't want to get up, I was pretty sure I was late for work. because my alarm clock did not go off, which meant I might have slept through it. I walked over to my bathroom and did my usual morning routine, until finally I realised that something was off. Just like last night, where were the typical chaotic sounds of an urban cityscape? I heard no one yelling at anyone else about who had taken whose last breakfast ego.

My roommate wasn't listening to his god-awful country music on three. volume. My dog wasn't barking. I heard no cars, no horns, no trains, no buses, no singing, nothing. Where was everyone at? I ran to my window expecting the traffic to be piled up, and people to be walking or sitting in various places. I saw nothing. There was no movement, not a soul in sight for miles. I was once again overcome with this anxious, panicky feeling. I ran back to my bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. My reflection stared back, pale and sickly brown eyes stuck in shock,

and my messy bedhead falling all over. I ran some water and splashed it onto my face. The sense of puking was trying to make itself known, but I kept pushing it back, not wanting to ruin my breath, mostly for my sake. I noticed my hands were shaking. I slowly brought them up to rake through my hair. I walked backwards and slowly slid down the back wall of the bathroom until I sat on the floor. So many emotions and thoughts were flying through my mind at dizzying speeds,

trying to process the situation that I now found myself in. did the world end while i was sleeping or did it end last night while i was riding my bike was i the last survivor of the human race and if so how i was literally the bottom of the barrel when it came to strength and as far as everything else i was what you would consider your average show why was i still here maybe it was god he came and took all of the good people. And now only the douchebags were left over. And apparently I was considered to be one of those douchebags. Was I really that bad of a person? I mean I've never stolen or killed, which I think are probably the worst things you could ever do. I consider myself to be an all right person. So why was I counted as one of the baddies? Maybe this was punishment for something. If so, what? And how should I reflect on?

it to get out of the situation. I dug the ends of my palms into the back of my eyelids, and I felt them watering. Why didn't I go with the rest of the world? What did I do? Then I heard something besides my own crying, off in the far distance. It sounded like music. I quickly wiped my eyes and ran back to my window. I looked out of it, searching for anything. But once again, nothing. Nothing. was moving. I didn't even see birds flying. Everything looked so desolate. I could still hear the music off in the distance. So I grabbed my work bag for some reason and ran out of the apartment. I ran down the stairs and towards the ominous sounds of the chiming music. I ran and ran. As I got closer and realised it was ice cream truck music.

There I found it laying in all its glory. A white van with happy faces, an acutely decorated ice cream truck. Sitting there, with the music playing, as though someone was inside of it. I ran up to it and knocked on the side of the truck. I heard no discrepancies from the music. No movement in the truck. I yelled, but nothing happened. A strange creeping feeling of people.

being watched came over me once again. I stopped and looked around me. I quickly ran over towards an alley and hid behind a dumpster, watching the truck to see if anyone else heard it and will come out to check the sound. Then something terrifying and unimaginable happened. The ice cream truck moved by a few centimetres. And then, just as if I were inside of a game,

It glitched further down the street, music and all. I jumped back and fell onto the disgusting ground. I started to feel a tiny heart attack taking place. I tried to breathe easily and controlled, but no matter what I did, it still came out ragged sounding. I got up very slowly from the ground. I looked at the truck still playing ominous music further down the road. My heart was slowly coming back down from panic mode.

When I saw the form of a woman glitch in and out of reality, she looked like she would have been walking on the sidewalk towards me. I ran away as fast as I could with my stuffy breathing and jumping heart. I didn't stop until I found somewhere away from whatever I had just witnessed. I looked down to see I was standing on a very lightly veiled line. I looked really closely and saw that it led to a door-knob of a restaurant. just then i saw the line disappear and the door glitch open and then closed this happened in what i would consider to be a blink of an eye i felt my heart jump into my throat again and i started running again i didn't know where i was going any more just away maybe if i found another city or town it wouldn't be so terrifying maybe i could find actual people a dog a companion anything so there you have it I got freaked out and ran as far away from the crazy

But what I didn't realize is that the crazy Is everywhere I go I haven't found anyone No animals No fish The only companions I have are plants I can watch movies and shows I can even stream shows

But I feel like there is something huge here I just don't understand what it is The food in the markets and even restaurants are restocked as though there are people here. But where are they? I sometimes see glitching figures of people, walking, doors opening, music playing, and random things that make no predetermined sense. Right now I am in someone else's home, but I have no idea where anyone is. I sleep, eat and do everything.

I think I normally do everywhere now. The whole world is mine and I don't want it to be. I want to see my dad before he passes if he hasn't already. I want to hug my mum again. I wish, and I can't believe I'm saying this. I could yell at my roommate for having his music up too loud again. I want to pet my puppy, at least once again. I want my life back.

I'm posting this in a random place in the world, with no one else around for countries upon countries, and I'm asking, do you think if I keep walking, I will eventually find someone? Or will I find the end of this hell and be released back into my world? Or should I stop here? Should I settle where I'm at and find companionship in the herbs and trees around me? Your wrists look sore. I'm sorry about that. I can't really loosen them. Not while you look so awake still. Maybe in a bit.

Don't worry. It shouldn't be long now. And I'm sure this rain will stop soon. Then we can leave this house. And then all of this trauma will end for you. Once and for all. I read a short encounter with a ghost that takes place at Christmas.

Would you like to hear it? There's something about that time of year where the veil between our world and theirs becomes so thin. I know I've experienced that feeling myself many times. Okay, so this is how it goes. I have so many ghost stories from my past,

but here is one that will stay with me forever. When I was little, I lived on the grounds of a very old manor house in the UK. The manor itself was used as to college for teaching courses and was fully fitted out to cater for people to stay for week-long courses. There were bedrooms and a fully functioning restaurant, as well as the course rooms. My dad actually ran the place. That's why we lived on the grounds. House came with the job kind of thing. Anyway, at Christmas, when my grandparents would come and stay, they would stay down at the manor house.

as we didn't have enough bedrooms at our actual house, and it was only a five-minute walk away. So one Christmas my grandad woke up at like 6 a.m. And saw a little girl next to him. At first he suspected it was me, having wandered down to see them. But as he came to more, thinking he needed to get me home before my parents freaked out, he realised the little girl was wearing a bonnet

and a long white old-fashioned nightdress and looked nothing like me. She smiled at him and touched his hand. Then a lady in old-fashioned clothes walked through a wall, again smiling at him, picked up the little girl and walked back through the wall. My grandma slept for the entire thing and although he said he was never afraid,

he knew she would be and would refuse to come for any future visits, so he never told her. He did, however, tell my parents, who had already had many strange occurrences at the manor house, so he knew they would believe him. My dad said the thing that gives this story so much credibility, is that the rooms they were staying in used to be the old nursery and nanny's quarters. My grandparents had no knowledge of this at the time. He said it was all very calm and peaceful.

and not scary, albeit somewhat unnerving. To start in my culture, we avoid saying ghosts, especially the particular ghost names. For example, in the Western culture, there's Banchi, woman in white, boogieman, and stuff like that. In my culture, I'm Malaysian, we have ghosts like Pontianac, Pocong, Toil, Langsue, among others.

Saying their names out loud, is said to summon them. I love ghost stories, but not the Western kind. I love Asian ghost stories. Perhaps because that's what I grew up with. I find them spookier than Western ghosts. Due to the language barrier,

there's not a lot of Malaysian ghost stories available in English. So six years ago, I started a YouTube channel where I read Ghosts that are mainly from South East Asia. I would record my voice reading the stories at home, of course. Since I was living with another girl at the time, she also happened to be my colleague. We were working at a customer service call centre that operates 24 hours, and our shift rotates weekly. Our two-bedroom apartment was really small, that there was barely any privacy when it comes to noises.

So I would usually only record when my roommate was. out. I didn't want to bother her with my voice and I would prefer not to have sounds from her going about her life in my recording. One time my roommate was working the overnight shift. She left around 8 o'clock in the evening and I just got home from work two hours prior. So I decided to record my second video. About half an hour after my roommate left for work, I started recording in my bedroom. I think it was a little bit more than halfway through the second story. I heard someone entering the apartment,

which was weird since her shift should at least take about eight and a half hours. I thought if she came home early, it would be more than likely that she is not feeling well. So I went to check on her. When I went to look for her, she was nowhere to be found. The only logical explanation was that the sound was from the next door unit. so I went back to recording. Not more than 15 minutes later, I heard the sound of a chair being pulled from under the dining table

and followed by water running in our shower room just seconds later. Confident I was home alone, I went to check it. My bedroom door was facing directly to the shower room door. As soon as I opened my bedroom door, I had a clear view of the open shower door, revealing a dark shower room. At this point I was getting nervous My thoughts were all over the place

I froze for a bit Before deciding to look into the shower The sound of water running can still be heard When I flicked the shower room light switch on The shower was running But there was no one in there I turned off the shower and went looking for my roommate again Maybe I missed her the first time

But still I found nobody in the apartment. I was a little nervous, but I was determined to continue recording. I wanted to be a YouTuber and hoping that one day I could quit my job and tell ghost stories full time. So I did. I finished recording the stories and went straight into editing. Around 1am I needed a toilet break. The toilet was separate from the shower and can only be accessed through the kitchen. After I'd done my business while I was passing through the kitchen, I could hear a giggle from the living room.

That stopped me in my tracks. I had a clear view of the well-lit living room. There was obviously no one there. At this point, I knew I was not alone. I ran into my bedroom and locked the door behind me. I hid under my covers, and that's when I heard. something tried to open my bedroom door it went on for what felt like forever I fell asleep for some reason I finished editing my story posted it a few days later everything

quieted down for a little while so I decided to record another story this time I was recording during the daytime it was my off day and my housemate was out shopping or something everything went smoothly So smoothly that I was able to post a video by the time my housemate came home. That night we decided to watch a movie together. Before we started the movie, I went into the kitchen to make myself some snacks, while my roommate picked a movie. Our TV is positioned on the same wall that divides the living room in my bedroom

and the sofa right across from it, so you can see the kitchen door and shower room door when sitting on the sofa. As I was coming out from the kitchen, I asked my roommate if she had found a movie. She was looking at me with a surprised look. Didn't you just go in the shower room like 30 seconds ago, she asked. I just shook my head and went to sit. The topic died there and we picked a Malaysian horror comedy movie.

Mid-movie, our shower room door whipped open violently. And we heard what sounded like a giggle. My roommate decided to sleep in my room that night. That was the last time we watched anything related to ghosts. Since then, I often hear furniture being moved, giggles and see shadows moving in my peripherals. But when I turned to look, there was nothing. Sometimes even when my roommate is home,

she has also experienced some spooky stuff in the apartment. Like her back being tapped by something while she was in the kitchen. hearing my voice call her name when I was not home and shadows running from the kitchen into the shower room while she was watching TV we stayed there for a few more months until my roommate quit her job to move back to her hometown and I decided to move in with another colleague

the new house was much larger it was a three-story house I stopped recording ghost stories for a while after that. Even though I love ghost stories, I do not particularly like experiencing one. It took me about eight or nine months before I had the courage to record

and have a ghost story. It was not a very good idea. I'll post about that one soon. The art of a good horror story is something that is hard to pin down. Don't you agree? But there are those who truly have a natural ability to provide us stories.

that can delve into our psyche and tickle that little part of us that fears the unknown, that believes there is evil in this world that we are unaware of, or at least most people are unaware of. I'm sure you are not, at least not anymore. I can see your eyes are getting heavy. That took longer than I expected. Don't worry. Your torment is almost at an end.

But let me read you one last story. Can you tell me where your problems began? The infidelity. Is that what you mean? We can start there if that's what you want, John. I could feel the air leave my lungs then. Here the incessant ticking of the analog clock on the wall. Count the amount of times my thumb ran against the picked skin around my other nails.

The pattern was the same. The way she spoke was the same. Hell, everything was the same. The infidelity. That too had been the same. John? Yes. The last time we spoke, you said that Sam couldn't have betrayed you

because of the Blackbird song. That it had been the only proof you needed that the problems had gone away. Then after the accident, you mentioned that it was where it all began. So let's begin there. She crossed her legs, smoothing out her skirt, in the manner that most did subconsciously. She had the same habits when we did our sessions. As if she was trying to cover something up, she analysed me.

What is the Blackbird song, John? When did your problems begin? Our mother used to tell me of the Blackbird's song. We would be sitting together out on the porch with the summer's breeze blowing across us and the hum of nature filling our ears. Mother would still be wearing her Sunday's best from church. Her fine shoes long gone with the dust of dried summer dirt coasting her feet. I'd still be wearing my finest clothing too.

My cloth like my flesh, stained by Montana. soil. The cool stone of the steps and chipped painted porch of the house would act as our own altar as we merely existed, our hands working away on the green beans that we had picked earlier as we separated them between our woven baskets, building up a decent rhythm that was only beaten by the rest of the world. Those were the good days, good in how predictable they were. I always knew that when we finished, we'd go inside, wash them and cook them, that we would have a good dinner for the night before the week would start again. And somewhere in between, mother would tell me of the Blackbird song, although at the time of days she gave it was inconsistent. I still considered it a part of the

routine that I held dear, and I listened intently each time. I could paint the picture for you even. my mother a fond smile on her face her eyes dancing to the sunset or sunrise of the swaying of distant trees the blackbird song she would tell me was one that meant many things that it was comfort from family long gone that it was a promise of return that it was a reminder that even in isolation

you were never alone She would hum the song then Or at least a short tune of it Before give me a fond smile She'd stroke my hair or kiss my cheek And promised me that one day It would come for me Not once did she provide me of the lyrics

She would never whisper a single word of it Not even when we would move the cattle or horses And she'd hum the song to completion would she say the words. One day, she would always promise. One day, I would promise right back. Always loving and remembering and forgetting the Blackbird song until it, like our routine and my very life, came to an end.

It felt like an end anyways, because by this point in my life, on the verge of starting high school, I had been left an orphan. Nothing really prepares you for something like that. People always go on about the old dying or the sick. You're prepared all your life truly for those around you to eventually go, or to go before them. But no one ever prepares a child,

not to experience it so quickly without decades having passed, without the exceptions. I certainly wasn't prepared when the officer came to my doorstep with his hat in his hand. I knew deep down, I swear I did, but everything that followed felt wrong. I felt ill-prepared, as if my life had ended with theirs.

When I had been informed what had happened, car accident, drunk driver, my father always had an issue with his liquor, and my mother had paid the price with him. My baby sister I was told. was found yards away in a ditch. Her scalp removed from her head due to a rusted fence pole.

Her body mangled in the old fences barbed wire. They said she was still alive after it all happened. She died slowly on that gravel road. Her body so badly meshed that the casket had to remain closed. The funerals that followed all came and went within the church, as if everyone was ready to put my family in the ground,

to be done with them. A few spoke of how awful it was and offered to help me with anything I need. The majority, though, told me to my face, that I couldn't be sad for them. There was no point in being sad when someone dies and goes to heaven. Those same people turned to whisper in the other's ear, to gossip about the accident itself. The details carving themselves into my head until I finally asked the preacher why no one seemed to care that death had come and taken them. That's the whole point, isn't it, son? The preacher had told me before sending me on my way. And in truth for a split second, I agreed. I almost joined them. I spent the entire walk home from the cemetery, wondering what would be the best course of action.

It wouldn't be an accident like theirs, but I was alone, alone and forgotten. By the time I got back to the house, I was sure that I must have hated myself because I had already made several plans, all of which were cowardly things. I almost went through with it, too, until I met her. Eliza Harlow. I never knew of any other Harlow's. My mother's family had all been dead aside from her, my sister and myself. My father didn't have any family to begin with. I'd been alone for an entire day and an entire walk home, and then suddenly I wasn't. Eliza claimed that we were cousins, that she was here to take care of me. I can gratefully state that I stood there on the porch, sweat, collecting beneath the cotton of my suit as she smiled up at me. She couldn't have been more than a couple of years older than me in her late teens. Her light blonde hair was pulled back in a braid, tan round face scattered with freckles,

with a smile that was all too white, all too sharp. Her brown eyes matched mine though, and they were warm, and I was alone. I didn't care whoever Eliza was. was, if she even truly was my cousin, because at that time I was just happy to have family. To have some sliver of life brought back into me, I didn't think of the Blackbird song for a long time after that. A full year had passed before the memory of it came curling within my chest. A full year I had spent carrying on as if my life hadn't changed and ended. Eliza lived in the house and kept company with me.

She'd tend to the crops and the livestock and ensure that I had dinner, even on the nights when she would simply walk off into the darkness of the plains, though she always returned bringing groceries and news. And ensuring that I continued with my schooling when winter came, it wasn't until one specific night when I caught her humming, that I felt a pain chill fill my bones. Liza hummed the Blackbird song from the porch. Her gaze lost within the sunset as the sounds reached my ears,

bringing with it a hollow kind of sorrow as the knowledge that he had died with my mother carved itself into my soul. Only it hadn't died, had it. Just as all my family would, wasn't dead, the song wasn't dead either. But I couldn't bring myself to move, to speak, to ask. I contemplated the song, feeling it dance across my tongue, before I finally got the courage to ask, do you know what that song is? The one you were humming the night before. Eliza looked at me then,

a warm smile crossing her face. The Blackbird song. She questioned, though it didn't feel like a question. I already knew deep down that she knew what the song was, that she knew perhaps more than she should have. I could only nod. It's a song of remembrance, of calling when you feel alone in this world, a calling to family.

She says it as she has said it a thousand times before. The words feel scripted, no matter how much calm emotion she places behind it. Do you know the lyrics, I asked. Feeling temptation creep in as if I was a young child again. Why do you ask all of a sudden? I've been here for a year, it's you never spoke of it. I thought it died with my mother.

She kept the knowledge to herself of the lyrics. I didn't expect to get it until you were older. Holding her at the edges of death. That usually is how it goes. But she died too early for her time. Eliza purses her lips, folding a strand of hair behind her ear, before turning away from him. The chimes on the porch blew in the wind.

The birds and the crickets began their own song. Eliza didn't dare look at him. Something like that. I feel knots from within my stomach Hot molten lead dragging me down As every warm memory of my mother seemed to surface Words like that bring out a certain kind of feeling in your soul Make you wonder if the wording has any meaning

Or if it's merely for show Like a preacher standing on a pew Only in my case Eliza was the preacher and I was the follower in the pews. If I tell you the Blackbird song, then I will have to leave you. You will never see me again,

say, from your deathbed, should you be the last. And with that, I will never be able to help you. Why? You don't need to know why, John. You just will. If I tell you, you will understand. but then I will have to leave.

Can I think on it? She huffs then, a shrivel of annoyance flaring in the way she holds herself. Go to bed, John. You've never spoken of your family, but I imagine Eliza held importance to you. Through what you have said, it would seem that you fought on it and accepted it. I swallowed then, counted the books marking the shelf on the back wall, until the entire row was completed, traced the outline of the dolls that sat imprisoned forevermore on the shelves above it. Eliza told me everything and then she left. I never thought

I would see her again until long after Sam was dead and our grandchildren were roaming my family's land. The weight of it, the importance of such a thing is why I didn't think Sam would cheat. The laugh that threatened to claw from my throat for a sickening kind of dread as the words left me. The image of Sam drifted into my mind with it, as if she herself was crawling from my throat. I trusted her with something that wasn't hers to take. Well, let's start with the beginning for Sam and lead up to the end. Sam. Sam. Sam. Samantha. She never liked going by the name Samantha,

but always insisted on it when her maiden name was involved. Sam Miller sounds like a man, she'd say, on our long walks home. To which I would usually joke that Sam Harlow was no better. A terrible comeback, really, but that's what builds relationships from what I found. I didn't think much of Sam at first. I'm not even sure of when we exactly decided to become friends, or if we had just been brought together by one too many school projects. But it didn't matter much to me.

She was all long-limbed and thin-boned, one of the only redheads I had ever seen, with pretty green eyes and skin that stretched over herself too tauntly, as if she had been starved for the majority of it. That was my belief at least, considering she was, by all accounts, a hippie and the daughter of one. We made an odd pair when we'd press our desks together or eat by ourselves in the cafeteria. The same went for outside of school, the gas station, the supermarket, the long walks to my home.

We had joined at the hip during our junior year of high school and the oddness just stuck all the way up until graduation. That was when our first problem started, if you could call it that. The cold dry winter was sweeping across the lands And Sam was caught dead in it on my front porch Her lips were dry Hair frozen And if one had ever seen a corpse She certainly looked apart

Clutching that fancy flimsy paper within her hand As if the wind would take it away And in case it's in ice College John Don't you ever think about such things She would ask And my response was always the same. I can't leave this place, Sam.

Because there's some family member that abandoned you years ago. John, can we please talk about this instead of dancing around it? We are talking, Sam. Don't you get that? It's more than just Eliza, okay? It was his mother sitting on the porch. His baby sister laying bent and butchered in the road. His father roaming the backyard for some tall he'd. lost. It was his family, the memories of them, and all those that came before him. Each one

singing that same song until they two passed and were sung full. Leaving for college just seemed like closing a door on it all. It felt like abandon them, like forgetting. Sam didn't understand that though. She never did. John, Sam ran her hand. along her head before slapping it to her side. She seemed to give up in a defeated slump at the small kitchen table, abandoning her acceptance letter right next to the salt shaker. I love you, John. I love you.

And I never let it stop me before. Not when it led to me being bullied more than I already was. Not when it left me feeling isolated out here. Her green eyes welled up with tears, even freezing and on the verge of tears she was as beautiful as the fresh green of spring coming into the world I want this one thing and I want to understand it you I just don't know if it'll be worth it when I'm giving up my entire life for it the blackbird song the words felt heavy across my tongue

I had rarely spoken of it when Sam was involved oh don't get me wrong she knew of it knew the importance it held and what she'd have to do to get her hands on it. She had even heard a brief melody caught within my throat her summer back. It had actually been one of the reasons she came back to me in the beginning. One slip-up, one small mention, and that's all it took. Sam was hooked on the mystery, as if my family was some mystery novel that she couldn't quite skip to the end of.

You know what will happen for me to tell you that's, song. The bond we would have then. John, just fucking marry me already then. Be a man and marry me. She married you to get the song then. She married me because she loved me, the idea of me at least. I wouldn't lower her into being that obsessive and willing to throw her life away for a simple family tune. She did love me, somewhere in that heart of hers. I just wasn't enough, clearly. All right, we have to start. Typically, I don't jump to the end, but why don't we bring clarity to the matter? The Blackbird song shows you that Sam wasn't being faithful.

Let's restart there then. Our marriage came with the summer sun that following year. Sam pushed off going to college, but it wasn't solely due to her marrying me. That night that she had placed her college acceptance letter on the table and asked me to marry her, had simmered down to an agreement. She would do the community college while I ran the family farm. Then after two years I would take care of our first child, while Sam would begin online university courses.

She'd never have to go too far, and I'd get to have my new family by my side. I'd never have to leave the place where I'd walk the earth for so long, and she'd get to not be so strapped down to me, a win-win for everyone involved. and it had been good. Sam made for a beautiful bride and our honeymoon had been spent with us

chasing the other around the outside of the house with a paintbrush. We'd have movie nights in the living room with wine that we kept saying we would save but never did. I'd ask her how her day at school was and kissed her goodbye when she said she needed to head off to her classes once again. There wasn't anything spontaneous in our lives

other than the odd meals Sam liked to make and I enjoyed that. I really did. I never saw any problems until the problems made themselves as abundantly clear. Our first problem was when the pregnancy test

came back positive. Have you seen the Angelus painting? It was created by a French painter during the late 1850s. The old painting depicts two individuals, a man and a woman standing in the Great Plains.

The man has a hat within his hand. the woman prays. Buried in the ground between them is their dead child. Sam had insisted on it, a burial behind the house. We'd stand there like that couple for the painting, as if we were recreating it. The first time Sam had silently wept. The second time, a single tear ran down her face. The third time, she had asked me to sing the Blackbird song to her.

We had looked at each other then, as a child. as if time had stopped, as if both had nooses around our necks as the winds of the plains blew away the top layer of soil at our feet, and the horrific part, the part I still wonder about, is the fact that I wanted to say no. Without even thinking, I already knew the answer that I was going to tell her. I hated myself for it, bit the inside of my cheeks, and tilled the taste of copper filled my mouth and slid down my throat. Don't make me regret this John. She'd say, as if it was a warning towards me rather than a damnation, which leaves into the second problem that came, because I didn't say no to telling her the song. I took her out that night as the

sun began to set and our third child laid to feed the carrionys and I sang the blackbird song. repeating the lines over and over until the lyrics drifted into the darkness. We both cried as we held each other. The worst of it all, being that this was the first time in our entire existence together, that we truly felt for each other. After that, the next morning to be precise, I almost regretted finally telling Sam. Anxiety beat around my chest and made me chew my nails down to the quick,

I feared that Sam would leave me now, that maybe it had been for nothing, that Sam was obsessed, or that it just hadn't been worth it, all of the pain and sacrifice. The walk down the stairs into the living room was like my own personal funeral. How fitting it would have been had the divorce papers sat where her acceptance letter had once been. Only Sam didn't leave me I found her sitting at the kitchen table A brilliant smile on her face That I hadn't recalled for so long As Eliza sat across from her

She hadn't aged a day Despite the near five years that had passed since she left She hadn't even changed the clothing that she wore Well good morning John I must admit that I've missed you Eliza's smile felt like deja vu like I was that young teenager once again that thought he was alone in the world

only I hadn't been alone for a while and now the last of my family had returned again it should have brought me mirth but I couldn't help the sinking feeling that something was wrong that I had done something that I shouldn't have Liza I didn't expect to see you here I did. I knew what singing the song would bring, and she knew it too.

She cocked her head to the side and gave me a look that said she was calling me out for it. Only before either of us could speak up, Sam had interjected, turning to me with a pleading look of horror across her face. As if she was begging for me to help her get away from some unheard conversation that they had had. She just stopped by and I couldn't turn her away John always went on about you during high school Sam began to shake then Her hands were overlapping

Her right knee was bouncing A nervous sweat was even breaking out Along the back of her neck I doubt that Eliza pursed her lips as she studied us Like a tiger studying its keeper at a zoo Eliza Sam has class today Why don't we catch up while she heads on out?

Eliza smiled at that. Then as Sam practically jumped from her seat at the opportunity to run? I'd like that. So your wife suffered miscarriages, and you didn't notice any infidelity before then, or any issues at all. The only thing I find odd is that Eliza reappeared. It sounds like you didn't call or text her,

yet she came the following morning you told Sam the song. Sam couldn't keep a baby in her if she tried. It didn't change anything for me. I still loved her just as I always had. Tell me about Eliza John. You ignored my comment on her, but I want your opinion on why Sam was afraid of a family member that she had never met before.

When I sang the song to Sam, I had to tell her about the Blackbird song, the true meaning of it. That's why Sam knew why Eliza was there. That's probably even why she feared her. My tongue rolled across my teeth, then, as that last night painted itself across my eyes. The three of us standing alone in the living room, as Sam truly entered my world. I learned of Sam's infidelity due to the song, on the last night that we were together.

Fate has never been something that I had believed in, not when you get down to over-specific details and heavy, religious implications that typically come with it. I tend to apply that same mindset with many things in my life, herding cattle upon a horse, recalling the last moments I spent with my family, monsters being in our world. Sam returned home as if fate had declared it. She entered the house with heavy feet, not even bothering to hang up the keys as she always did, as she caught sight of us in the living room. Her face scrunched up, as it did when she stumbled upon a problem that she didn't understand. And those green eyes were drowning in unshed tears. I wanted to go to her then, to take her face within my hands and promise to her that everything was going to be all right.

Just as I did on our wedding night, only I couldn't. I wouldn't. Something inside of me tore as a Eliza frowned at my wife. Come here, Eliza ordered, and Sam followed. Those heavy feet dragging against the old wooden floor she came to stand in the centre of the room. Her eyes no doubtily burning as she refused to blink. As if doing so would cause her to lose sight of us. Do you want to tell him what you've been doing? Eliza tilted her head to the side.

She appeared like a teenager then. all innocent and confused over the world. Yet it was nothing more than a mask. We both knew that. Sam opened her mouth as if she was going to speak before closing it. Several more times her lips moved like that before Eliza slowly stood, placing herself in front of Sam as if she was now the priest, the family home, the altar.

Tell him what you have been doing. The pupils in Sam's eyes widened into large saucers Before collapsing into pinpricks Over and over until Sam's mouth fell open And bloody drool fell from those lips That I had traced over for so many nights I I've been cheating

I haven't been going to classes I've been cheating And an ugly gurgling cry left her mouth as blood and vomit seemed to rise from her throat. Sam couldn't seem to move though as her body fought to cough it up, frozen in place, yet fighting to stay alive. The whole command over herself once again, the children you lost were not yours.

She's been cheating, lying, even trying to place poison within your food. She wants to steal the land. She wants every piece of you, right down to the song. Eliza's tone was lowly, menacing, even as a southern drawl bled into her words. Like sticking a knife into a carcass, and slowly cutting down into the darkness. Thankfully, you've never liked her cooking. Eliza looked at me as if she had been watching it all from the start, rather than from pulling it from a confession.

i knew of which deep down i knew that it wasn't an entire lie in my own observation she may have disappeared all those years ago but i knew she never truly left she knows everything eliza eliza looked at me then as my mother had when i told her i was sorry for so many small irrelevant things a pitiful look that one usually received from a parent or elder when the realisation of reality and fate was met with a child's painful understanding of the world. I'm going to deal with it, John. Then I'll come again when you sing the song on your deathbed. Just promise me that you'll do better for yourself next time. I hate seeing my family hurt itself. I promise I vow to Eliza.

In the same motion, Eliza told Sam to find. her, she took her hand and walked her out the back door and into the Great Plains, like death leading a lost soul, back to the grave, and I let her. Dear God, I had let her. You're saying that Eliza is responsible for Sam's death, that is because of the song that the infidelity was exposed, and Sam was murdered for it? There is a heavy pause. The sounds of intercoms, fretting to come on with the continued ticking of a clock, a pen snapping. John, when I looked up Eliza Harlow, I couldn't find anyone by that name in the entire state system. I even looked in the

surrounding states, and I can't find anyone, even a second or third cousin with that identity. Dr. Jensen seemed more upset than curious, as the revelation of it all settles between us. I wish I could say that she understood, but I knew then that she didn't. She wouldn't, not unless I told her. You wouldn't find her in anything modern. The Blackbird song is Eliza's song, and she died back in 1882, right before my family settled on our land. She's not my cousin, Doc. She's my ancestor, a sister of my ancestor, killed along the Oregon. trail, and she didn't stay dead. Her killers made sure of that. John? I never left the house that night. I only went out searching the next morning, hoping, praying that Eliza had spared Sam,

but I knew she wouldn't let her go now that she knew the family secret about Eliza. I knew how I would find Sam, and it wasn't because I could. killed her. Her body was drained of blood, John. Her brain showed significant brain damage. You knew those things when the sheriff pulled your body off of hers. You told the county court system those things before the autopsy even came back. You did those things. You can't blame it on Eliza. Not when she doesn't exist. Dr. Jensen looked as if she was going to be sick as she slid the pictures across the metal table. Sam. Sam. Samantha. You want to know the blackbird song, Doctor? I'll sing it to you. Then you can tell Eliza that I told you everything from my beginning

to my very end, right down to the fact that a vampire is going to kill you for it. And what will it matter to me? I wondered. When those cops outside the door are going to take me right back to prison once we are done, I guess I'll let you think on that one. Just promise me you'll get rid of that report before Eliza comes in and finds it. I'd hate to have broken the family secrets for a second time. Close your eyes. It's all going to be okay.

I think the rain is easing off now. We can leave soon. Full fast asleep, everything is going to be okay. You won't have to worry about anything ever again. Thank you for joining me on another series of creepy stories. All of the stories featured are either true life paranormal encounters, or writings from up-and-coming horror writers. All authors have given their permission to feature their stories here,

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