The Jabberwock

SHED

In the dead of night, if you stopped everything you were doing and lifted your ear to the crack of an open window, what would you hear? Crickets chirping, twigs snapping, maybe rustling leaves, shivering from the bitter, sharp winds. These are all normal sounds, yes, but for a young child, these sounds tend to take on a more sinister role– someone walking right outside your window, or a monster lurking in the nearby woods. I remember hearing these sounds, startled, heart racing under the covers. But nothing ever happened. Nothing, except for the faint, yet unnerving knocking on my window every other night.

Me and my mom lived in a relatively nice suburban neighborhood in S—, Pennsylvania. We had just moved in recently due to my mom landing a job opportunity, one that she had been patiently waiting for. My room was small, with my twin-sized bunk bed taking up most of the space– though, I’m an only child. My bed sits right next to my window, which was fairly large for such a small room. Peeking out, you would see my front yard leading up to the stairs of my front porch. Surrounding the neighborhood was a dense forest that I would often explore during the day, but wouldn’t dare to explore at night.

During one of these expeditions, I found myself lost beneath the daunting wilderness before me. By now, I thought that I was quite familiar with the forest– I had walked through it nearly every day since moving here. However, as I continued through the viridescent terrain, it seemed as if the trees were closing in on me, and the world started to lose its familiarity. I kept walking, hoping that I would eventually find my way back to a path that I knew.

Night was starting to fall, and my panic started to rise. Every little noise in the woods– ones that I would otherwise ignore– suddenly became far more prominent. The wind turned icy cold, off-putting for a summer night.

After what seemed like an hour, I frantically stumbled upon something that stopped me dead in my tracks: a cabin in the forest. No, more like a makeshift shed, crudely put together with planks of wood and a withered-away metal roof. It couldn’t have been any larger than the size of a hut.

I was curious; it was a curiosity strong enough to overshadow the feelings of panic that I had. How had I never seen this before? With the fear subsiding, I neared the cobbled together shelter. Each step towards the shed felt like a step into an eerie, otherworldly realm– one that had somehow eluded my attention despite my regular forest excursions.

The shed’s door hung ajar, creaking softly in the chilly breeze, beckoning me closer. I peered inside, the dim light of dusk revealing a jumble of rusty tools, torn cloth, and decaying remnants of what could have been a primitive living space. The thing that caught my attention the most, however, was a series of indecipherable drawings scrawled on the shed’s interior walls. They depicted grotesque, contorted figures, their faces twisted in agony. These figures, in an odd sense, almost looked like illustrations of children. The shaky lines and uneven strokes made it seem as if they had been drawn in haste, and the unsettling imagery sent a shiver down my spine. In the center of it all was a particularly sinister figure, its dark, hollow eyes seeming to follow my every move.

Disturbed yet intrigued, I couldn’t resist the urge to investigate further. The drawings hinted at a dark and troubled mind, and I wondered who might have created them and why. It was then that, in the corner of my eye, I noticed a stack of old, tattered notebooks lying on a makeshift wooden shelf.

One in particular caught my eye. It was torn up, old, and frayed. As I reached my hand out to grab it, something made me instantly pull my hand away. It wasn’t a startling noise, no, quite the opposite: the forest, which previously had a subtle ambiance to it, suddenly fell silent. A silence so loud that it discouraged me from making any movement– it was the silence that grew when prey knew there was a lurking predator nearby. Something was screaming at me to get out of there as soon as I could.

With an eerie sense that I was not alone, I immediately left the shed. The looming silhouette of the shed in the distance seemed to watch me. I felt a growing unease, like I had trespassed into a realm where I didn’t belong, a place where darkness held dominion.

Thankfully, I eventually made my way back home, where I was met by the displeased cries of an angry mother and an early bedtime. After I ate dinner and washed up, I hopped into bed, thoughts still racing about the events that happened that day. As I started to drift off, that’s when I heard it: the faint, yet eminent sounds of knocking behind the curtains of my window. At first, I brushed it off, thinking it was maybe just my mind playing tricks on me. But it got louder. Gradually, the knocks started to pick up their pace, but they stayed in rhythm. Knock. Knock. Knock. I was scared, too scared to even think about opening the curtains. But after around five minutes, it stopped. There wasn’t any knocking for the rest of the night. Relieved, I fell asleep, thinking that it might’ve just been a tree branch hitting against the glass. To be fair, it was a pretty windy night.

I wish that it was all just a tree branch.

BIRTHDAY

Two weeks had passed following the events of the shed in the woods, and nothing really eventful happened. At least, regarding the knocking. I hadn’t explored through the forest since then, but what I saw lingered in the back of my mind.

I remember that around this time my birthday was coming up, and my mom wanted to go all out. She insisted that we throw a huge party, inviting all my friends and my neighbors. The first person that I asked was my best friend Alex. He was a troublemaker, one who was often sent to the principal’s office for making sly remarks during class to teachers. A class clown. Despite being polar opposites, we got along. Alex wasn’t much of a bully. He was more of a person who got along with everyone. He had an adventurous, outgoing nature to him. We were in gym together watching everyone run laps around the court when I asked him.

“Dude, of course I wanna come! That’ll be awesome.”

“Really? Your parents would let you?

“Yeah! I mean, I haven’t gotten in trouble with Ms. Johnson in a while. I’ll beg if I have to”

Alex showed up. A lot of people showed up, to my surprise. Mom must have asked everybody in the neighborhood. There were a lot of people I recognized, like Sally from my math class, and my next-door neighbor, an old lady who always gave me a smile whenever we crossed paths. However, there were a bunch of people that I didn’t know, as well. The party was thrown in the backyard of my house, which was fairly large. There was a bouncy house setup, along with plenty of games and a long table, filled with colorful decorations and a tempting spread of snacks and drinks.

The weather was perfect for an outdoor gathering. The golden sun cast a warm glow, and a gentle breeze rustled the leaves in the trees surrounding our property. Laughter and chatter filled the air as kids and adults mingled and enjoyed the festivities. As the party was in full swing, my mom was busy socializing with the guests, ensuring everyone was having a good time. I, on the other hand, was running around, playing games, and trying to ensure all my friends felt welcome. I occasionally caught sight of Alex, who seemed to be in his element, entertaining everyone with his witty humor.

However, as the day turned into evening and the sun began its descent, an uneasy feeling crept over me. The things I saw at the shed never left my mind. I couldn’t shake the sense that someone was watching me. A shiver ran down my spine, and I scanned the crowd, trying to pinpoint the source of my discomfort.

That’s when I heard it, a faint but unmistakable “click” – the sound of a camera’s shutter. I looked around, trying to find the source of the sound. My heart raced, and I couldn’t help but feel that something was wrong.

“Alex,” I whispered urgently, “did you hear that? It sounded like a camera.”

Alex furrowed his brow, scanning the crowd. “Yeah, I heard it too. Maybe someone’s just taking pictures.”

I nodded, trying to convince myself that it was nothing more than a curious guest documenting the party. But in the pit of my stomach, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was amiss.

The rest of the party continued, but I couldn’t shake the unease that had settled over me. I couldn’t be certain who had taken the photo or why, but I couldn’t escape the feeling that I was being watched more closely than I ever imagined, and that the man from the shed might be lurking nearby, hidden in the shadows.

After the party wound down and the last of the guests departed, I retreated to my room, exhausted but still plagued by the unease that had haunted me throughout the day. I brought it up to my mom, but she told me that it was normal for someone to take pictures at a party. She helped me clean up, and she reassured me that everything was fine, that it was just a fun-filled birthday celebration. I nodded, trying to believe her words.

Night had fallen, and my room was bathed in the soft glow of my nightlight, floor littered with presents I had gotten. I lay in my bunk bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering about the mysterious click of the camera earlier. As I lay there, trying to calm my racing thoughts and focus on sleep, the familiar sounds of the night seeped in through my window. Crickets chirped, twigs snapped, leaves rustled, and the wind outside carried an eerie howl.

Then, it happened.

A series of distinct and deliberate knocks resonated from my window, sending a jolt of fear through my entire body. It was louder and more prominent than it had been before. The knocks had a rhythm, a pattern that was unmistakably human.

I couldn’t bring myself to look, my heart pounding in my chest, but I couldn’t ignore it either. The knocking persisted, a sinister call that felt like a malevolent presence demanding to be let in. Tears welled up in my eyes, and I finally mustered the courage to call out to my mom.

“Mom! There’s someone at my window!” My voice quivered with fear as I frantically hoped for her swift response.

Mom rushed into my room, her face filled with concern. She quickly opened the window and peered out into the night. But there was no one there, no sign of the source of the knocking.

My mom tried to soothe my fears, attributing the noise to an animal or the wind. She assured me that I was safe, that there was nothing to worry about. But I knew better. The relentless knocking had become more pronounced, more sinister, as if I was being taunted by something that knew I was aware of it.

I couldn’t sleep for the rest of the night. My mind raced with endless possibilities Unfortunately, this wouldn’t be the end of this nightmare.

PHOTOGRAPHS

Almost a year had passed, and the once-persistent knocking on my window had faded into a distant memory. Life returned to a semblance of normalcy, and I slowly but surely began to put the haunting events of the past behind me.

One sunny weekend afternoon, my best friend Alex and I found ourselves faced with the familiar adolescent dilemma: boredom. With no exciting plans on the horizon, we lounged around my room, tossing ideas back and forth to pass the time. That’s when Alex, always the adventurous one, suggested something that sent a chill down my spine.

“Why don’t we explore the woods?” he proposed, grinning mischievously. “It’s been a while since we’ve been out there, and it could be fun. What do you say?”

I hesitated, the memory of the shed in the woods and the stalker’s eerie presence flooding my mind. But as my friend continued to pester me with excitement, I reluctantly agreed, hoping that revisiting the forest would dispel my lingering fears.

We ventured into the woods, the vibrant green of the leaves above offering a stark contrast to my apprehension. As we walked deeper into the forest, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off, that the shadows concealed hidden eyes, watching our every move. Despite my unease, I didn’t want to appear frightened in front of Alex.

We continued on, the sunlight filtering through the thick canopy above, casting dappled patterns on the ground. As the sun dipped lower on the horizon, signaling the approach of evening, we decided it was time to head back home. We didn’t find much during our exploration to Alex’s disappointment. As for me? Relieved was an understatement.

Alex told me that he knew a shortcut back to my house, and he insisted that I followed him. We walked through a path unfamiliar to me, but I trusted his intuition. It was then, as the forest began to cast longer shadows, that my heart skipped a beat and I stopped dead in my tracks.

As the memories of past events flooded back with a newfound sense of dread, there it stood: the malignant sentinel at the edge of the forest, its weathered wooden walls almost appearing to lean inwards, as though the very trees that surrounded it sought to keep its secrets hidden. The roof, battered and rusted, added to the sense of decay and abandonment. It was the very same shed that I had run into before.

“Alex,” I stammered, “we should just head home. We found nothing in the woods today. Let’s not mess with that place.”

Alex, however, was more curious than ever. “Come on, just a quick look. I promise, we won’t stay long.”

Reluctantly, I agreed to accompany him, though my unease was palpable. As we approached the shed, we noticed an odd, pungent smell in the air– a mix of dampness and decay that hung heavily around the structure.

A sense of malevolence clung to the shed like a shroud, as if it were the physical embodiment of a sinister presence. Its peeling, sun-bleached paint– now a sickly gray– seemed to whisper tales of long-forgotten nightmares to anyone who dared approach. The entrance was marked by a sagging, off-kilter door, always ajar, which creaked and groaned with the weight of its own eerie history.

As we entered the ominous shed, Alex’s initial curiosity and bravado began to wane, quickly replaced by a growing sense of dread. His usually animated and carefree demeanor transformed into one of somber contemplation.

Inside the shed, the eerie drawings still adorned the walls, and the notebooks were now scattered across the makeshift wooden shelf in a disorganized mess. But it was the notebook from before that caught my eye. The same tattered, decayed book that I had tried reaching for that one night. It lay open, filled with pages of incoherent rants, delusions, and macabre descriptions of their twisted thoughts and obsessions. Phrases were underlined with an aggressive intensity, as if the writer sought to emphasize their darkest desires and fears. The handwriting, almost illegible, appeared to have been hastily scrawled in jagged, uneven lines, as if the author was driven by some unholy compulsion.

Alex’s face grew paler with each passing moment. He stared at the drawings, his eyes darting from one to the next, and then to me. A tremor had entered his voice as he whispered, “This is… this is beyond creepy.” I didn’t disagree..

I looked around the interior as Alex continued to turn through the notebook. It felt as if the shed itself was watching us snoop around at something we shouldn’t. At this point, I couldn’t take it anymore. I urged Alex to hurry up, demanding that we leave.

“Y-yeah… You’re right. Let’s—” He paused.

“Dude, seriously let’s–”

He cut me off. “Wait. Look at this,” his voice quivering. He was pointing to the notebook he had been flipping through.

I reluctantly turned my attention back to the open pages, and my eyes widened in sheer horror. Alex had uncovered a sinister revelation within the notebook. Countless photographs, crudely taped into the pages, were staring back at us. Each image depicted me, taken in various moments of my life. They were snapshots of me at school, at home, with friends, and even at my own birthday party, and they all shared one terrifying quality – an eerie intensity that seemed to consume my very existence.

Alex and I both recoiled in terror, our breaths caught in our throats. The stalker had meticulously documented my life, capturing it in horrifying detail. It was a violation that struck at the core of our beings, leaving us paralyzed with fear.

After the unsettling discovery in the shed, Alex and I quickly retraced our steps, making our way back through the darkening forest. Before leaving, Alex grabbed the photograph that had been taken of me at my birthday party. It was a haunting reminder of the stalker’s presence, something to share with the authorities.

Upon our return home, we wasted no time in informing my mom about the chilling encounter in the forest. Her face grew pale as she listened to our account, and concern etched lines of worry on her face. With a trembling hand, she dialed the number for the local police.

Within a short span of time, the police arrived, their presence a reassuring yet unsettling reminder of the gravity of the situation. We recounted the events in the forest, sharing the details of the shed, the eerie photographs, and the ominous drawings on the walls. The officers assured us that they would conduct a thorough search of the forest, and they urged us to be cautious, to lock our doors and windows, and to call them immediately if anything unusual occurred.

As the police left, my mom’s face was marked by a mix of relief and lingering unease. We couldn’t help but wonder about the elusive stalker, who seemed to slip away like a phantom in the woods. Despite the police’s assurance, we knew that the sense of dread that had taken hold of our lives was far from over, and we would have to remain vigilant in the face of an elusive and malicious presence.

INTRUSION

In the days that followed the discovery in the forest, my mom took the safety of our home more seriously than ever. The sense of violation, the feeling of being watched, had shaken her to the core. She was determined to ensure our sanctuary was as secure as possible.

With unwavering resolve, my mom embarked on a mission to fortify our home. She consulted security experts and had additional locks, deadbolts, and window bars installed on every entry point. It was as if she was creating a fortress, determined to protect us from the ominous threat that lurked outside.

Perhaps the most significant step she took was the installation of surveillance cameras. These devices became sentinels, watching over our property day and night. They were strategically positioned at every corner, monitoring every inch of the premises, ready to capture any suspicious activity.

Inside our home, we had a security system installed, complete with alarms and motion sensors. The peace of mind this provided was immeasurable, but the gnawing fear still lingered in the background.

My mom, a woman of unwavering determination, became more vigilant than ever. She checked the cameras religiously, ensuring that every night fell silent, that no shadows moved in the darkness outside our windows. The need to protect her child had become her paramount concern, and she was willing to go to any lengths to safeguard our home.

In this newfound fortress, we thought we could find some semblance of security. However, the presence of the stalker continued to haunt our thoughts, and the cameras that watched over us were a constant reminder of the sinister eyes that could be lurking just beyond the frame.

My mom had been caught up in important work business that afternoon, leaving me home alone with her stern instructions echoing in my ears: “Never open the door for anyone.” The encounter in the shed had made her more cautious than ever, and she wasn’t taking any chances.

As I sat in the dimly lit living room, my gaze shifted constantly between the surveillance camera feeds on the monitor and the front door. The familiarity of the security measures brought a sense of comfort, but it was always accompanied by an undercurrent of anxiety.

Time passed slowly, and the shadows outside the windows grew longer. I couldn’t help but recall the eerie encounter in the forest, the sinister shed, and the haunting photographs in my mind. Every unexpected noise made me jump, and I became increasingly apprehensive as the minutes turned into hours.

And then it happened. The doorbell rang, a sudden intrusion of sound that sent shivers down my spine. I glanced at the surveillance feed, and there, on the screen, stood a uniformed police officer, or at least someone who appeared to be one. The sight sent mixed emotions surging through me—relief that help had arrived and a troubling sense of déjà vu.

I hesitated for a moment, torn between obeying my mom’s strict instructions and the notion that the police officer might have critical information about the stalker. After all, he had claimed to be following up on the situation.

But something seemed off. There was an eerie calmness about his demeanor, a disconcerting lack of urgency for a law enforcement officer responding to a potential threat. His eyes held a disconcerting intensity, as if he was studying me as closely as I was studying him.

With a sudden burst of intuition, I remembered a critical detail—my mom had emphasized the importance of police identification. Trembling with anxiety, I approached the door but didn’t open it. Instead, I asked, “Can you please show me your badge and identification, Officer?”

The police officer’s expression seemed to falter for just a fraction of a second, an imperceptible shift that only deepened my unease. He quickly reached for a badge on his belt, but as he held it up to the peephole, something about the badge seemed… wrong. It was the small details, the tarnished edges, and a distorted reflection.

I took a deep breath and then calmly stated, “I’m not comfortable opening the door. Please slide your badge and identification under the door, and I’ll verify it.”

The “police officer” hesitated for another heartbeat before slipping something under the door. As I bent down to examine it, I realized that the badge and identification were far from genuine. The photograph on the ID was blurry, and the badge lacked the precision and authenticity of a real police officer’s credentials.

I paused for a moment, and he must have noticed it too– that I wasn’t falling for his deception. With great force, the man slammed into the door, my trembling hand managing to engage the deadbolt. As the bolt slid into place, I watched the man’s expression through the peephole shift from one of false congeniality to one of anger and frustration.

He began pounding on the door, his fists making hollow thuds that reverberated through the hallway. “Open up!” he barked, his voice laced with an unsettling fury that sent chills down my spine. “I need to speak with you about the situation!”

My heart pounded in my chest, and my mind raced. I knew that this wasn’t a real police officer. The distorted identification, the lack of a genuine police cruiser outside, and the deceptive calmness in his eyes all pointed to a trap. My instincts screamed at me to remain cautious.

I fumbled for my phone, quickly dialing 911 and explaining the situation to the dispatcher, all while keeping a wary eye on the man outside my door. The dispatcher assured me that officers were on their way and urged me to stay inside and keep the door locked.

The man outside continued to pound on the door, his threats growing increasingly menacing. “Open this door right now, or you’ll regret it! I know what you’ve done!”

I huddled in the corner of the hallway, the dispatcher’s voice on the phone offering some semblance of comfort. The minutes felt like hours as I waited for the real police officers to arrive.

Finally, the sound of sirens grew louder, and the pounding on the door stopped abruptly. The false police officer must have heard the approaching vehicles. A few moments later, real officers arrived, and the imposter was taken into custody.

As they led him away, he cast a chilling glance in my direction, his eyes filled with malevolence. I finally got a look at the man who has been tormenting me for months, almost a year. His features were etched with an unsettling blend of malice and obsession. His eyes, no longer hidden behind a veil of deceit, bore into my soul with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine. In their depths, I saw the twisted obsession that had fueled his relentless pursuit, and the malevolent desire that had driven him to invade my life.

His face, once concealed in shadow, now wore the marks of a man consumed by his own darkness. The stubble on his jaw was a testament to his long and relentless pursuit, as though he had cast aside the conventions of ordinary life to become a relentless tormentor.

The real police officers assured me that they would investigate the incident and the identity of the individual posing as an officer. They also emphasized the importance of continuing to be vigilant and cautious.

In the aftermath of the stalker’s apprehension, a sense of relief washed over my life like a long-awaited dawn breaking through the darkest of nights. The nightmare that had tormented me for months was finally over. The web of deception, the relentless pursuit, and the twisted games had all come to an end.

The sense of vulnerability that had once pervaded my life gradually gave way to a renewed sense of security. My mom and I began to rebuild our lives, and we slowly shed the shackles of fear that had bound us. Our home, once a fortress under siege, began to feel like a sanctuary once more.

I still have many lingering questions to this day.

What was the stalker’s motive? Why did he haunt me for so long?

What would have happened if I opened that door, falling for the man’s trap?