Yesterday I received an email from one of this blog's readers. In it was detailed the man's own experiences with what he said was a similar evil to what I have written about. I have omitted a portion of the email as it wasn't pertinent to his story, but I have included the tale in its entirety. It would seem that there is in fact a small but vocal group, willing to share what they know.
I was only nine when I heard it for the first time. It wasn't like a voice, mind you, but rather lilting notes that I understood to be the beginnings of a song. Early on they seemed like little more than a creation of my own imagination. But as the days passed and the tones grew more confident in their hold over me, I become aware of the fact they were originating from somewhere outside of my mind.
Within a few months the singular notes became less fragmented and random. They were growing into something not quite melodic, but with a semblance of rhythm, that had a deeper meaning. It was at this time that the song began to take shape and the notes gave birth to thought.
There was something haunting, even in its simplistic beginnings, that I was drawn too, but I did not entirely like the song. My apprehension was useless, however. I soon found that I could not ignore the notes when they came, which was with more regularity every day. When I tried, they grew dark and frightening, so I eventually sat and listened. Sometimes for hours.
My mother began to become worried about me. I remember her telling my father how my behavior wasn't natural or healthy. I don't recall his response; the song, as if aware it was being discussed, grew to drown them out. He mustn't have been too concerned, though, as I was left alone with the notes for several months longer.
By now the song had grown in strength and cohesiveness. There was a melody that I was quite familiar with, but several harmonies had recently joined in, each with its own voice and demands. While the first had simply desired my attention, these new additions were more insidious. I was now being ordered to do things I would not otherwise have done. The details of my sins I won't write; I am ashamed to include them. Sufficed to say, they were not the usual, mostly harmless transgressions of a child.
My father was now obliged to agree with my mother's take on the situation and I was placed under the supervision of a child psychologist. I remember her office smelled of old books and disinfectant. She seemed genuinely interested in my story, though I suspect it was more for the oddity of it than anything else. I can't say for certain how good at her job she really was, since I had only visited her for a few sessions when the notes in my head began keeping me awake at night. The tune had grown uncharacteristically bright and excited. I knew what they wanted and, after almost week of no sleep, I relented.
It took firemen the better part of the day to extinguish the blaze I'd started in the psychologist's restroom. Luckily no one was seriously hurt, but that was end of any therapy for me.
With no professionals willing to help, and facing the very serious allegations of arson, my parents were at their end of their rope. They handled this in very different ways. My father had resigned himself to the fact his son was a lost cause-- a bad seed that was better off behind lock and key. My mother, however, had not given up hope. She still loved her son, despite the evil growing inside of me, and was determined to save me from it. Taking what little we had between us, mom and I left my father and found a place by ourselves where she felt she could help me.
The notes from nowhere saw this interference as unacceptable.
Not too long after we had moved, the song became unbearably depressing. I remember crying for hours on end, though I didn't know why. It was as if a funeral dirge had burrowed itself into every one of my thoughts. My mother assumed my mood change was a result of my father's betrayal, but she was wrong. The notes wanted me to do something horrible-- I just wasn't aware of what-- and I knew I was powerless to prevent it from eventually happening.
Deep down I think I had always known what the song demanded as a final act. It wanted me to itself and there would always be an obstacle in the way. I did not wish to do my mother harm, though, and I fought with the notes for weeks as the dirge grew more and more oppressive. My spirit was broken and I had stopped eating. Finally I gave up; if this was what the notes spoke to me, then I had to act.
Creeping from my bed one night, I crawled down the hall of our apartment like the loathsome creature I had become. My mother's bedroom door creaked slightly as I pushed it open and slithered inside. Raising up, I saw her, this woman that had not given up on me even though she probably should have. She was asleep and completely unaware of the dangerous monster not more than five feet from her heart. I began to weep. The notes were pounding in my skull and I felt as if I were outside of myself, watching a horror movie play out. The song reached crescendo.
That was the last time I looked upon my mother's face. Fleeing through the night, I was terrified, but also overjoyed. My decision to leave had been difficult, but I had come face to face with the evil inside and resisted its call. The notes were not pleased. They alternated between furious and pleading, but I ignored them the best I could as I fled into-- and from-- the darkness.
I have been running ever since. Though my victory that night saved my mother's life, I dare not return to her for fear that my resolve won't be as great this time. I have learned to resist more often, but I admit I have done some truly monstrous things since that night as well. The song is now a symphony, complete with overtures, discernible instruments, and a dissonance that is both compelling and horrible. I have attempted to write it down several times, but the notes escape me and the chords are nothing more than white noise when played. This is probably for the best.
I have accepted this curse will never leave me and I no longer wish to live with the knowledge of the things I have done to appease it. For this reason, I decided some time ago to destroy the song, but it is aware of my intentions. So far I have not succeeded in drowning it out, but eventually I will. And then it will play no more, its notes finally silent.
And I will rest.
There have been no replies to my emails thus far, but I will continue to try and contact the author. Should he respond, I will post what he has to say.
The outpouring of similar stories has been overwhelming thus far, believers. I am not sure what to make of it all. Is it possible they are all true and the story of Pale Forest is wider spread than I thought? Perhaps. I will be back soon with an update on my own detective work which will hopefully shed some light into all of this.
Until next time...
