My dear reader, I must warn you, what you are about to experience may indeed scare you to the core. If you are of the unfortunate many who bears a heart condition, put this work of literature down immediately, and go about your day. You have been spared. I will now begin. This is a story of anguish, on my part anyway, a story of spine chilling terror, a story of confusion. But I shall let you be the judge, if you are still with me by the end.

I don’t wish to inform you of anything but the truth. Whether or not you choose to believe my record, is up to you. You may be asking yourself, what is so terrible, so spine chilling, that it must be locked away from the public? And why, in God’s name, would I be having you read it? To answer the first question, I want to tell my story, and I will, in good time. To answer the second question, I only wish to pass my story on as a “preventative measure” of some sort. I have made it my mission to do anything necessary to inhibit history’s repeating itself, because I care about you, dear reader.

I am warning you, and this will be the final time. If you feel as though you cannot handle this knowledge that will be bestowed upon you, walk away now.


Okay, if you are still with me, and I hope you are, because I wrote this only for your benefit, I shall begin.

It was a balmy Saturday. It had just rained, and the pavement was spattered with raindrops. I remember this, because my daughter Tabitha, then eight years old, had her ladybug rain boots on. She had informed me, that because she would be turning nine tomorrow, she was a certified adult now, and should surely be allowed to get her nose pierced. I responded with the statement that once she possessed a job, and was no longer living with her mother and me, that she would be able to do as she pleases. She responded as any eight year-old would, stomping to her room in those ladybug rain boots, letting out the trademark “I HATE YOU!” I let out a tiny smile, because, what else could I do? I heard her dragging her easel to the chair by her bed. My smile widened. Though she was only eight years old, Tabitha was a gifted artist, and especially excelled in drawing and painting. It was a release for her. Whenever she was sad, mad, happy, whatever, she would always retreat to her room and illustrate her emotions. I looked at the clock. It said almost six. My wife should be home any minute, from her job as a music teacher at the local YMCA. I heard the door unlock, and our collies, Trish and Trina, ran to greet my wife at the door. “Oh hello my babies, all of you,” she said with a smile to the dogs and a special one for me. She was beginning to exhibit duck-like symptoms as a result of her pregnancy, and though I would never say it out loud, it was quite comical. “Where is our daughter?” she asked, though she already knew the answer. “Why I believe she is upstairs in her room...painting!” I replied. “Well I never!” my wife exclaimed. This is how our family plays. We find it to be quite amusing. At the sound of my wife’s voice, Tabitha emerged from her room, her face streaked with orange paint. “Hello Sinead,” said Tabitha, with a smirk. I looked over at my wife with a pained expression, and opened my mouth to explain, but she didn’t look back. She wore a look of great surprise. “What did you just call me Tabitha?” “Well Sinead, I am almost an adult now, and since this is true, I will be calling you by your first name, because that is what all adults do!” The shock from my wife’s face was gone, and instead a smile replaced it. “Well Tabitha since you are an adult now, I suppose you will be the one who pays for dinner tonight,” she replied. “But…it’s my birthday dinner!” she said in dismay. “Well, if you are an adult now, then you must have money to pay for dinner. It’s nice to take your parents out, isn’t it?” Tabitha opened her mouth to say something, but instead omitted a large sigh. “Well, I suppose I’m not an adult then. It was nice to pretend for a minute, though. Can we go eat now?” My wife looked at me with a look that said, “That’s what I thought.” “Yes, but first, wipe the paint off your face, silly.” Tabitha ran to the bathroom, wiped off the paint, and we were off.

There is a little café at the end of our block that we frequent, and next door, much to Tabitha’s delight, an art supplies store. Every year, we take her to dinner at the café, and then to the store where she picks out an item for her birthday. As usual, we left the café, stuffed and happy, and waddled our way into the art supplies store. We let Tabitha loose, and looked around the store, for there was always something to look at. We were surprised when she emerged only a few minutes later, with a large black book, ornate detailing decorating the front cover. “Isn’t it gorgeous? It’s a sketch book! Oh, I just have to have it, mom and dad!” she exclaimed excitedly. “Well calm down, honey, calm down. Are you really sure this is what you want? You can have anything within reason, you know…” I replied. “YES! I’m absolutely, positively positive!” “Well, okay then.” We walked up to the man at the counter, and set the book down. “Excuse me sir, we’ll take this sketch book, and that will be all.” “All right; that should come out to about…” The man’s voice broke mid- sentence as he looked down at the book with a confused expression on his face. “Well I don’t seem to remember ever stocking this book…how strange…” “Well, whatever you want for it, we’ll pay,” I replied. I named a price. “Yeah…sure…that will work.” “Alright then,” I said, trying not to notice the strange look on the man’s face. “Have a good night sir,” I said. He didn’t reply, just stood with that look on his face. We didn’t talk about it on the walk home, because we didn’t want to alarm Tabitha. All she talked about on the walk home was her brand new sketch book.

We arrived back home around nine. Usually nine is Tabitha’s bedtime, but because it was her birthday, we allowed her to stay up and work on her sketch book. However, my wife and I were tired, so we went to bed, dreaming of our baby, the glow of light from Tabitha’s room illuminating not only our room but our dreams as well.
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“I wonder what I should draw first, and with what?” Tabitha inquired to herself, sitting at her easel. “There are so many choices…” She got up from her chair, and walked over to a wooden cabinet by her closet. It was decorated in swirls of colors and patterns, done by her, of course. She took out her paints and brushes to use. She decided to use her older paints and brushes, and save the new ones for something really special. She closed her eyes, and began to imagine. Next to drawing and painting, it is what she does best. She believes that without imagination there is no art, no ability, and no chance to express.

An hour or so later, Tabitha emerged from her state of imagination, and landed back in reality. What was left, laying there on her easel, was a product of true excellence. It depicted an alternate universe. Anything that would be considered “normal” in Tabitha’s current world was the complete opposite in her painting. There were blue tigers, male bodies with female faces, female bodies with male faces, red water, a volcano erupting inside itself, and more. In addition to the fascinating pictures, there was also an abundance of color; vibrant, electrifying color. She had been so engrossed in the painting, that she had barely even realized what she had painted, until it was over. This was a new experience for Tabitha. Before, she had always known what she was going to paint, and this time it was different. However, this didn’t phase her. Looking at what she created, Tabitha smiled. “Made some art, with the blue and the red, in my pajamas, now it’s time for bed.” On that note, she wiped her hands and jumped into bed. A few minutes later, she was sound asleep, blue tigers dancing through her mind.

The blinding sunlight of morning woke her up. Stretching, she let out a loud yawn. “Ahhhhh,” she said. She scratched her leg for what seemed like forever, but the itchiness continued. Opening her eyes in surprise, she realized she was not in her bed. She was lying on a bed of grass. But this was no ordinary grass. “Pink…grass?” she exclaimed in confusion. She rolled over and found herself face to face with a very large animal; a large blue animal. What followed this encounter was a scream from Tabitha that shook the purple trees. That’s right, the purple trees. The large blue animal bared its teeth at Tabitha, and she realized that the animal was a tiger. Its growl was so menacing, and incredibly terrifying. It was all incredibly terrifying, and she was struggling to remember how she could have ended up in this place. She didn’t even know what “this place” was. And then, like a bolt of lightning, it hit her. “My drawing!” she exclaimed. “But…how?”

It was at that moment that darkness fell upon her. She felt herself slipping away, slipping into unconsciousness, or maybe sleep, she couldn’t be sure. It all turned to black, and she was gone.

Tabitha woke up disoriented, her mouth dry. It took her only a minute to realize that she was in her bed, in her room. She got up from her bed and peeked out the curtains. It was still dark outside. “What the heck is going on?” she exclaimed. Warily, she walked over to her sketchbook. She cried out in surprise. “The pages are blank! But I swear I drew something.” She heaved a heavy sigh. “I must’ve been dreaming…sometimes my dreams are just so crazy.” With another heavy sigh, she crawled back in bed.

As the morning rolled around, Tabitha began to feel normal again. “Good morning, my Tabitha! Rise and Shine!” chorused her mother. Tabitha stretched. “Morning Mom,” she said with a coy smile. Her mother smiled back. “What are we going to do today?” asked Tabitha. “Well its really pouring outside, so I thought we’d just stay in today; your dad went to his book lecture,” her mother replied, “maybe you can work in your sketch book?” “Um, yeah, maybe,” Tabitha replied nervously. “I’m going to work on my music most of the day, so if you need me, just call. The baby seems to like it a lot,” she said with a smile. “Okay mom, I will.” “Breakfast is on the table,” her mother replied, walking out of her room. Tabitha ran down the stairs, retrieved her breakfast, and ran back up. She closed the door behind her, and sat down at her desk, staring at the sketchbook that lay next to her cup of pens. She opened it again, to make sure she didn’t miss the previous picture that she had drawn. “Still blank,” she said with a frown, “I was definitely dreaming.” Determined, she opened to a new page in the sketchbook, got out her materials, and began to paint. She entered that same state of strangely intense imagination again, and didn’t emerge for the next four hours. When she finally came out of the trance-like state, she realized she had been sweating, and breathing heavily. When she started down at what she had produced, a gasp escaped her lips. “Oh my gosh! I would never draw this! What have I done?” Her painting depicted quite the gruesome image. In all bright colors, lines, and swirls, she saw what she had drawn. Her mother was on her knees, a pained expression on her face, and she was holding something. With a shock she realized what it was; her unborn baby sibling, somehow laying in her mothers arms, motionless, and white as a ghost. There were splashes of red everywhere, and she realized that it was the blood of her father and baby sibling. Tabitha began to cry in anguish. “What have I done?” She ripped out the page from her sketchbook and slashed it into tiny, microscopic pieces. “No one will ever have to see that again.” Holding back tears, she arose from her chair, and went downstairs to be with her mother; listen to her beautiful music.

As the hours ticked by, Tabitha realized that the day had worn her out. She went up to her room and closed the door. She only meant to take a short nap, but sleep has no stopwatch. Even as she was sleeping though, she felt the familiar darkness come upon her, somewhat heavier this time, and slipped into unconsciousness.

She woke with a start, and realized that this time, she woke in her own bed. She let out a sigh of relief. “I will never, ever, touch that horrible book ever again.” She pulled back her covers, and ran to her parent’s bedroom. “Mom, dad, I just wanted to say that-” That’s as far as she got. Her parents were not in their bedroom. “Mom? Dad? Where are you?” She ran down the steps that led to the living room, only to find a familiar scene. She saw her mother, on her knees, on the floor, sobbing; her baby sibling, cold, pale, white, immobile; her father, also immobile, laying in a pile of blood. “Her mother, finally realizing that she was there, looked up in panic and anguish. “Tabitha! Run! Oh baby, run from the man! Before he comes back!” Tabitha heard a loud bang that sounded like it was coming from outside. “Mom, I love you, I’m so sorry!” Tabitha cried. “Baby, sorry for what? Please, just run! Get out!” Tabitha ran to her room and hid under the covers, waiting to die. Instead, she felt that oh-so-familiar darkness come upon her, once again, and she fell, for what seemed like forever, into the darkness.

She woke up, sweating and shaking, in her bed. But she knew what she had to do. She was afraid no longer. The sketch book would be destroyed, and she vowed it would never hurt anyone again.
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My dear reader, I hope I haven’t scared you too much, and I really hoped you stayed with me throughout the story, because all I have told is the truth, whether you choose to believe it or not. Reader, it has been in my experience that sometimes, the truth is difficult to digest, and can be the scariest part of life. I do have some good news though. When my daughter Tabitha told me of this madness, I was struggling whether or not to believe her, but finally realized all I could do was believe her. You must trust your children; no matter how crazy they may seem at the moment, because, well, they are yours. Your children are the only people in life that, no matter how old they become, and no matter how old you become, will hold unconditional, and irrevocable love for you. If you do not believe them, who will? Though the sketchbook has been replaced, (by a perfectly normal book from A.C. Moore, no doubt) I have never seen Tabitha’s face light up the same way it once did, on that balmy Saturday evening.