Stories about BEKs (black eyed kids). IDK why, but there is something about those stories I find so genuinely creepy.
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Gerald in Ohio is a trucker doing long hauls. After making a delivery around midnight, he decided to drive back home to see his daughter. He did this about half the time, especially when he was within 200 miles of home. Otherwise he would bed down at a weigh station or occasionally a cheap motel. He had been on the road for a little over two hours and decided to stop and get an early breakfast. He pulled into a truck stop diner that was still open, with that charming promise of "Eat Here, Get Gas", always worth a chuckle. Gerald entered the restaurant and noticed the lights seemed to be especially dim. The sign said "Open" but he saw no-one. Finally a waitress came from the back. She greeted him and the two spent a couple of minutes in "light conversation." She seemed "very bright" and knowledgeable, so much so that Gerald inquired if she was from a trucker family, since she had an "extremely good understanding of routes", but she told him no, that she was an Army brat and had done a bit of traveling "in her day." This from a girl who "looked 17 in a bad light."
She took his order and went back to the kitchen. At this point, the driver realized that the situation was a little peculiar. A teenage waitress being the only person in the restaurant? He said he waited around 20 minutes, trying to think of a slick way to ask her for her number. She was unlike anyone he had ever met. Not only was she just smart in general, but he felt that they "connected, that she knew me." She guessed his birth day and year, and she seemed very intuitive. This wasn't what bothered him; what kept nagging him was how, when he ordered a chicken fried steak, she informed him "you can't have that it's fried in peanut oil." Gerald was deathly allergic to peanuts but he never told her that. The more he thought about it, the more perplexed he became.
Finally he decided to go back and ask the young lady how she could possibly know about his allergy. And here I will let him tell the story in his own words, "So I got up, went to the back where there was a little office for the manager, ya know? I knocked on the door, kinda soft at first, then harder. I knocked three different times, but I got no answer. I kinda nudged the door open just a bit – I didn't want to catch her changing clothes or nothing – and she was standing with her back towards me. 'Missus.' I say, and then she turned around. I freaked. Her eyes were totally black; I mean no white at all. Her skin was so dry, her OLIVE (my emphasis –B-) complexion was full of cracks, not wrinkles, mind you but cracked skin like you see on chapped lips, ya know? She was all dried out like a mummy, and her mouth was stretched. I mean more than anyone I've every seen. It was way too wide to be normal, seemed like she was grinning ear to ear, literally. Then she left out this, like, inhuman sound. Kinda like a coyote's yip, but deeper sounding, ya know? I took off so fast that I forgot to pick up my keys. They were sitting on top of my logbook. But when I got to my rig, they were sitting right there on the front seat. I know for damn sure I never leave my logbook in the cab. I looked up at the diner, and I could see her moving from one spot to the next. It was so fast that she seemed almost blurry, like when a hummingbird flaps its wings, ya know? I think she had that same look on her face, like it was frozen. I decided to get the hell outta there. I started my rig and rolled to the exit. I looked into the sleeping area, and there she was, that smiling devil girl. I tried to take off, but I forgot to look. Nearly hit a state trooper, and then she was gone.
The trooper seemed, uh, doubtful about my story, and it didn't help that there was no one in the diner. It had been closed since midnight. I know what I saw; can't no-one tell me different. The things she knew, the way she moved: It wasn't human. But the worst of it is, when I close my eyes at night I see her grinning that really evil grin. I ain't been able to sleep right since."
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The children looked out of place in the night. Craig Besand walked down the street toward his flat in Norwich, England, when two figures approached him.
“They appeared to be young boys,” Besand said. “One was about 13 years old, the other one was about nine.”
At the time Besand, a Missourian, was studying abroad at the University of East Anglia in Norwich.
“I(’d been) at a friend’s house having a few drinks until the late hours,” he said. “My friend asked me if I was all right to walk back to my flat and if I wanted I could crash on his couch. I told him I would be all right, I just wanted to get home and go to bed. It was after 1 in the morning.”
Between Besand’s flat and his friend’s flat was a cemetery – that’s where he saw the children.
“My friend lives up the street from a very old cemetery on Dereham Road,” Besand said. “I walk past this cemetery every time I go to his house.”
He’d made it a few blocks when he saw two figures approach him.
“They were both wearing hoodies, sneakers; typical kid stuff,” Besand said. “The older one said that they were trying to find the graveyard and that they were lost.”
Then the boy asked Besand, “could you please take us there?”
The age of the children and the late night struck Besand as strange.
“I figured it was odd that young kids were hanging out in graveyards at this time of night,” he said. “But kids are into whatever so I agreed to take them there. They asked me very politely and the cemetery was on my way home anyway.”
As Besand escorted the boys toward the cemetery, he looked at them closer. The oldest boy’s hair was jet black, “his skin was porcelain white and veiny.” Then Besand saw the eyes.
“They both had eyes that were as dark as coal, no sign of white,” Besand said. “The eyes were the most distinct features, it was like they had no souls or nothing inside of them.”
He asked these Black-Eyed Children where they lived. They named a nearby street.
“I thought that was strange because this cemetery is huge and almost everyone in town knows where it is,” he said.
When they reached the cemetery gates the older one asked Besand to come in with them.
“I told them no, I was going home,” he said. “He asked me again to go in with them. I still told him no.”
The younger Black-Eyed Child, Besand noticed, appeared nervous.
“(He had) this look of anxiety about him,” Besand said. “Then the older one stopped asking me. He started to make a demand for me to go into the graveyard with them.”
Then the older child’s demeanor changed.
“The frustration on this kid’s face was trying to be hidden behind one of the most evil grins that I ever saw,” Besand said. “My heart was pounding in my throat at this time as the older one said, ‘we wouldn’t harm you,’ with that grin on his face.”
The grin, Besand found, was hypnotic.
“Oddly enough, I was becoming more drawn to him and I was thinking that I should go in with them,” he said. “Then the silent younger kid said something that scared the hell out of me.”
The younger one said, “We shouldn’t be doing this.”
“Immediately after he spoke I snapped out of my trance,” Besand said. “My flight-or-fight instinct kicked in and I ran as fast as I could. I looked back to see if they were running after me, but they had vanished. I ran all the way home.”
About a week later, Besand wandered into a magic shop whose owner, he discovered, was Wiccan.
“I bought some incense and then got into a conversation about me being an American, traveling, and then about haunted places in town,” he said. “So I told her my story of the Black-Eyed Children. She told me that I wasn’t imagining anything.”
Besand asked her what they were.
“She told me that no one knows,” he said. “The people who found that out aren’t here to tell about it. She said they could have been anything from demons to fairies.”
He asked her why they would want him to go willingly with them to the cemetery.
“She said that they could just want something from you or they could have taken me to their realm,” he said. “She also told me that I did the right thing by running away, and that I’m never going to find out what they were so I’m better off just going on with my life and not thinking too much about it. I tell other people about it and they either get creeped out or they have a good laugh at my expense.”
Last edited by Skilpadde on 19 Oct 2012, 9:39 pm, edited 1 time in total.
16 Oct 2012, 9:11 pm
