Good evening, it’s Spooky Boo Rhodes coming to you from the Lighthouse in Sandcastle, California. Tonight I have for you two very spooky stories about neighbors who you probably do not want as your neighbors. I mean, who is your neighbor really? If you lived in Sandcastle then you would have no idea who your neighbors really were. They could be humans. They could be vampires. They could even be werewolves or demons. And sometimes, they are of the species unknown.
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Now let’s begin…
The Neighbor in the Black Hood
by MidnightEarth101
It wasn’t the best day outdoors, but I was out anyway. It was unnaturally dark and dreary, but I had to practice for the upcoming championship of Boxpuck, a sport my friends and I made up two years ago when we were ten. It was a mix between hockey and boxing and the main goal is to score and knock as many people over as possible. I admit, it was a bit rowdy, but I didn’t much care seeing as I was a more heavyset kid, 120 pounds and 5’2.
Johnathan has been my best friend since we were both five. He had come over to play some Boxpuck, and make sure everything was set for the championship. We did everything together, because our parents were best friends, so if we weren’t friends, our lives would be miserable. His mom and dad were away on a business trip so he came over almost everyday because he hated being lonely.
John was getting pumped up and bracing himself, knowing that nearly no good could come from me being on the offensive side of the game. We even built a small stadium in the backyard. It was about ten feet wide and thirty-four feet long. My goal was to grasp the puck and throw it in the net- no matter the cost. It was showtime.
I ran to grab the hockey puck, knocking my friend Jonathan over while I was at it. I threw it into the small net and then laughed at my friend for being an utterly terrible player. I walked over to him and knelt down. He was on his side in an awkward position, with his head twisted awkwardly. It couldn’t have been comfortable so I turned him over and asked if he was okay. His eyes were closed and his mouth was shut. It was odd looking so I fixed him up. I figured I had knocked him out by making him hit his head somehow.
“John?” I asked, sort of worried.
No response was given.
“JOHN!” I shouted in his face, but once again I received no response from him.
I felt for his pulse in all spots, luckily I remembered them from health class the day before. In all four areas, I felt nothing. Now knowing he was dead, I started to cry. I was panicking but in so much shock at the same time to where I couldn’t even react. All of a sudden there was a blaring loud scream. I jumped back in surprise, now even more shaken up from fear. In the distance I heard a faint chuckle.
I looked down at my feet, seeing my friend Jonathan’s eyes half-open. Then I saw his mouth open and I heard great laughter. I started seeing tears slide down his cheeks as he rolled around on the narrow-built cardboard Boxpuck stadium. He grasped his stomach and howled with laughter. As I watched, every single ounce of fear in my body turned into pure rage.
“You immature idiot!” I screamed at him, annoyed and frustrated.
I swung my fist down and punched him straight in the stomach. It didn’t even stop him from laughing. He managed to stand up, but staggered several times before gripping balance and calming his laughter. He rubbed his blubbery fingers through his golden brown hair, sweat dripping down his forehead.
“How’d you manage to stop your pulse? I checked in every spot and there was nothing. Your eyes were shut, you were completely immobilized and freezing cold,” I asked.
“First of all, you weren’t checking my pulse, you were applying pressure to my Adam’s apple and palms!” He roared with laughter, then continued his sentence. “Then, I was faking, trying to freak you out- and you can’t say it wasn’t working because I saw you cry. Third, the only reason I was ice cold is because we’ve been out here in T-shirts for over two hours in thirty-four degree weather,” he finished.
He proceeded to cross his arms and wait for me to respond. Suddenly, I hear a door creak open. I looked across the fake stadium floor and saw our neighbor’s door wide open. In the set center of the doorway stood a large male, a few years older than me and John. He was maybe 5’5 and 160 pounds. He was a white kid with extremely dark hair. He wore a black hoodie and ragged, dirty jeans. He had his arms by his sides and his hands made into fists. He continually stared at us for minutes, and I stared back. I have to admit that it was weird, as I had never seen this teenage boy before. I turned to talk to Johnathan.
“Who’s that creep?” John asked.
“I have no idea, I’ve never seen him before in my life. Just look at the weirdo.”
I turned and looked to my right once more, but this time there was nothing there. The door was closed and the kid was gone. I quickly spun around to look at John, but he was also gone. I peered around the corner but I only caught a slight glimpse of what looked like two shadows walking around the side of the building. I walked back inside and made myself a sandwich, then went up to my room and went to bed.
The next morning when I finally awoke, I decided to call John over, because we had a few hours before we had to be at school. His house’s phone rang and rang, but nobody picked up. I tried his cell phone, and the same thing happened.
“Weird,” I mumbled to myself.
I went outside and sat on the porch, listening to my iPod and playing on my Nintendo DS. About two hours later, I texted John to see if he was okay. I received a text back that contained a picture and words. It read, “The Neighbor”. The image was of the teenage boy we had spotted the night before. He was most likely messing with me, so I sent him back a selfie with words ‘The Jason’.
It was cold at the bus stop that morning, most likely colder than the night before. It was eerie, though. I saw this creepy teenage boy appear and disappear out of thin air, but then Johnathan was gone as well. Then for him to send me a picture of the same guy? It didn’t make sense. All these conspiracy, scary, and demented thoughts ran through my head. What could be so bad, honestly though? I didn’t even know that neighbor guy.
The bus pulled up in front of me so three other kids and I got on the bus. The bus driver didn’t say anything to us, which was unusual, normally he would give us a greeting. I sat down and checked my surroundings. There was no one in front of me, to the left of me, but on my right hand side, I saw him.
The boy in the hoodie. The Neighbor. The same neighbor in the dark hoodie. The Neighbor in the black hood. This time he had a knife in his left hand. He raised his right arm and in his palm, was a picture of Johnathan. He took his knife, slashed the picture in half, and after a few seconds he disappeared in a cloud of black smoke. I curled up in one corner of my seat because I knew what he had done. I now realized that I would never see my best friend again.
I looked at the picture- then I saw it. The back of the picture he had slashed a note. The writing was barely legible to the point where reading it put my eyes at a struggle. It read, ‘Jason’s precious friend-death on 11/28/14’ Then the bus came to a sudden stop.November twenty-eighth was tomorrow. Today was Johanathan’s last day alive. Everyone was told to get off, we had arrived at school. Now there was no way I could focus, my friend would be dead tomorrow.
I went in and from then on it seemed normal, except for a couple of things. I walked to my locker and put my back pack and other objects in there. I went into math class and sat down. As the boring class continued, I started looking around the room randomly, and when I turned around and looked at the door, I saw something through the rectangular glass window. it was the same kid, the black hooded teen-my neighbor. I looked away as quickly as I looked at it, but it made no difference. As I snuck a peek again, I noticed two red eyes glowing intensely. As the red light came out of his eyes it shone on one of my other friends, Karen. I somehow concluded that it had targeted her.
The day continued until recess, when all the sixth graders go outside and hang out. I was looking, and in the distance, I saw a sad kid. It was nothing big, just a sad child sitting on a rock. I went over to him to get a closer look. He was all alone, sobbing for what seemed like no reason. I walked up to him and asked him what was wrong.
He responded with saying, “The Neighbor in the black hood”.
Freaked out, I left him and went away.
Towards the end of our class, I had finally started to calm down about the incident at recess, until I started realizing that Karen had not shown in a while, about the same time that recess had ended. Now panicking, I decided to fake sick and go home. I travelled to the nurse’s office, told her that I had been feeling feverish and that I needed to go home. She called my dad at work, but he didn’t answer.
My mom’s cell phone was finally picked up after five or so calls, and when the nurse gave the phone to me and I put it to my ear, all I heard was a few simple words being repeated. “Look who’s here, look who’s here, look who’s here.” Panicking, I called my uncle and asked him to pick me up. He did, and in less then ten minutes I was at my house.
My Uncle Rick had his gun and I brought my pocket knife. Whoever, or whatever, that thing was, it wouldn’t be around much longer. As I walked towards the door, I tripped over some rock or something and made a horrendous racket. I looked down to see what I had tripped on, and that’s when I realized that it hadn’t been a rock, but Karen’s shrivelled, eyeless, toothless, flexible, and lifeless dead body. Horrified at the sight, I turned and vomited on the cement next to me.
Reluctantly, I made my way further into the house, now knowing to expect even more gruesome things. I opened the door but saw nothing except blood and bodies. Tens, even hundreds of corpses were scattered around and stacked like crates on a cargo ship. If I were to explain their appearance, they would be just like Karen’s. They were all shrivelled and eyeless, but they were each equally terrifying.
We went to my Uncle’s House and moved in my belongings, hoping my life would now be more peaceful. I switched schools and decided to try and completely forget my experiences with who I called the Neighbor, but things were stil odd.
Over a year went by, and I never once saw the neighbor. Now, this is what I refer to him as. I was sitting in my room, drowning in my sadness. I gave up on my sport, Boxpuck. John was gone, my parents were dead, and the Neighbor kept popping up. None of these were in a visual form. I discovered that he was drawn to ancient artifacts, written about in history books, and many other things. After this, I started to do my research.
It turns out, he has been around as long as anything in existence. He is the ruler of all things evil, his name is The Borghein- or ‘ruler of death’. He always says “Look who’s here” before grabbing his victims and absorbing their souls. He can be wounded but not killed, as he is immortal. Depending on the time period, he wears different items. Mostly, his face is hidden by shadow, but if he shows his face, then it looks like whoever his last victim was.
Now, in present day America, I have not seen or heard from the Neighbor in over twenty years. I am thirty-six now. Although, it seems as if someone is knocking at my door. I hear something, too, faint and nearly inaudible words.
I looked through the peephole in my door, but nobody was there. I turned around and he was there–in front of me—for the first time in years…
“Look who’s here.
Neighborhood Watch
by DeadJocko
Have you ever noticed that almost every other street in your neighborhood has a sign signifying that there is an active Neighborhood Watch in that area? For those who don’t know what the Neighborhood Watch is, it’s a collaborative effort by the residents to act as a sort of guard, protecting those who live next door and down the street. If anything were to be suspicious, the police would be notified, and an officer would come down to investigate. Mostly, it’s just false alarms, like a neighbor’s dog knocking down a trashcan that made someone think a burglar was outside. Lame, I know, but it provides the community with a sense of security.
The signs are standard traffic dimensions, sometimes smaller, that hang attached to lamp posts or whatever can be in public view next to the street. It features a seemingly sinister figure, its silhouette covered by the red “cross out” marker, and below it details the mission and the course of action the Neighborhood Watch will pursue if an unwelcome guest were to cause a disturbance. Unfortunately, little to no action that required the Neighborhood Watch to act ever happened. So jittery reports of, what they viewed as, suspicious behavior dropped to one or two calls a week, compared to the previous record of three or five. That is when tragedy struck.
Mr. Phillips was an elderly neighbor who lived up the street with his wife, Edna Phillips. One night, a burglar had broken in and entered through their living room. Despite his old age, his status as a military veteran sprung Mr. Phillips into action. He came downstairs, armed with a baseball bat, and approached the unwelcome visitor. Shocked, the visitor shot Mr. Phillips, and stole whatever he could before the cops arrived. Mr. Phillips didn’t make it. The bullet had entered his body and passed through his liver. Despite the efforts of the surgeons that tried desperately to save him, nothing could be done.
Mr. Phillips was a friend to everyone in the neighborhood, and we all attended his funeral. Edna decided to not bury him in Arlington National Cemetery, despite his veteran status. Instead, she had him buried at the local cemetery, in the lot they previously purchased for when they would be interned there. The service was nice and the reception had a lot of food, so I was a little more cheered up. As we watched his casket being lowered into the ground, Edna had tossed in some of his mementos, such as patches from his service or a rose. As we left, Edna remained; alone. She was stoic throughout the whole ordeal, and I assumed she was about to release the dam of tears she was holding back. I watched from our car, curious as to why she still watched the casket. It all seemed…strange. She seemed to be saying something, and a dark liquid dripped from her hands. I couldn’t see more, as our car passed a thicket, obstructing my view.
When we arrived home, my parents left their front porch light on, as did everyone else on the street, as a vigil for Edna and the late Mr. Phillips. We ate, as usual, and tried to avoid the subject of Mr. Phillips’ passing. Alas, we couldn’t. Death became the subject of the night; its implications, its cause, its effect on loved ones. It became late, and I went upstairs to go to bed. My bedroom provides a view of the street below, interrupted by a street lamp that sits directly in the middle of my window view. As I dressed for bed, I heard a whining noise. Not a noise like an animal, but a mechanical whine, like a car with bad brakes. I looked to see a station wagon, the driver’s face and form obscured by black cloth and shadow. He or she, no, it had to be a man, his gait and stride was too heavy for a woman. Walking in the direction of Edna’s house, he approached cautiously, thrown off by the front porches now ablaze with electric light. With the last police guard having left days before, Edna was now vulnerable, and he knew it. I wanted to run to my parents, to scream, to yell. But my mind flashed me memories of how Mr. Phillips had been killed by this man, this monster who would prey on a recent widow and I froze. An old, defenseless, widow, who was suffering from arthritis in her hips and showing early signs of dementia; at least that’s what my dad said. Fear conquered my thoughts, drawing back to the dinner conversation I had with my parents.
My thoughts were interrupted by the sudden flicker of light, as all the lights that I could see dimmed temporarily and regained their previous brightness. A scream, one that still chills me, pierced the air and I saw the man who robbed the Phillips’ and attempted to tonight fly with extreme force into the windshield of the station wagon he had arrived in. Shattering the glass, he sat, as if dazed or dizzy. I assumed he was regaining his vision before fleeing. But he just sat there, unmoving. I realized the dark liquid pooling beneath his car wasn’t brake fluid or gas, but his blood.
When the body was reported the next day, the story the police speculated was that he was discovered trespassing and confronted, in which he attacked the defender. A brawl ensued, and the perpetrator lost his footing and was slammed hard into the windshield, giving him several broken ribs and lacerations due to glass. No one knew who the defender was, and no one claimed to be or place the honor on another. Later, we found out who the defender was. It was Edna. It was revealed to the neighborhood during a resident’s meeting by Edna. She told us, in a shaky, old voice, that she came from a long line of witches, and the blood of the witch was just as strong in her as it was in the first of her line. When she had married Mr. Phillips, she explained, it seemed as though his charm and wit strengthened her ability. She summoned creatures; beings with which she had do her bidding. She was skilled enough that she could essentially make a double of herself. One neighbor, Mr. Scott, scoffed and arose to leave. As he opened the door, there stood Edna, blocking his path. Several gasps came to breath, and many heads swiveled back and forth to try and look past this seeming illusion. When nothing cleared the air occupied by the Edna Mr. Scott stopped before, everyone seemed to calm. Concerned, of course, but the atmosphere seemed to be less skeptical, less tense.
“When that filth had taken my husband from me,” the new Edna spoke in a voice not at all matching that of the real Edna, “I took it upon myself to avenge his death, and to prevent anything that may cause harm to anyone else.” The clone Edna motioned for Mr. Scott to sit. Embarrassed, he resumed his seat.
“But why tell us now?” My father asked the question that must have been residing on everyone’s mind.
“Because with this new information, there are a few conditions. In exchange for unconditional protection, there must be a sacrifice, committed in honor to the creature for him to continue our benefit. It can be of any animal or person, but I hope it doesn’t come to people. It must be presented weekly. At worst, daily, but only in the most extreme cases is it necessary,” Edna spoke, seemingly youthful by this new conviction.
“But why do you need the animal? What sick purpose do you have for them?” a voice I didn’t immediately recognize inquired. Edna chuckled slightly.
“You misunderstand. I don’t control this being. I merely summon it and it resides within my home, existing yet not sharing any space with me or my possessions. It needs the blood of others to protect those who summon it. That is the nature of a demon, my kind sir,” she answered. Loud protests from the more religious neighbors arose to answer her reply, but Edna merely looked at them intensely. The neighbors, as if under a trance, sat down without uttering a word.
“It is an evil, yes. But it is a necessary evil,” Edna continued. “Mr. Phillips is no longer with us, and we need a protector. We need an avenger. We need the very embodiment of unbridled aggression that will help us sleep at night. That is why we need it.” With every word, she looked and sounded younger, but at the end of her rant, she resumed her feeble frame. There was a brief, whispered discussion between the neighbors. The kids were left out of it, but I could tell by their faces that the general attitude was leaning towards Edna’s proposition. Mr. Scott, the former skeptic, stood up and faced Edna.
“We’ll go with this plan,” Mr. Scott said in a flat voice that betrayed a hint of worry. Edna smiled.
“Wise choice. There is one more condition, and this is not one placed on by the demon. This is my precaution. I suggest you have all porch lights on and operable at night. It won’t act as a total shield, but it will give it second thoughts. The doors are its target as it does seem to follow a sense of polite niceties for reason yet unknown. Front and rear porch. Oh, and do not leave your house at night. This is absolutely unconditional. For your sake, do not do it,” she finished.
“What about our protection tonight?” Dad asked.
“What makes you think I was talking to you?” Edna answered, her voice suddenly deep and sinister. Several people came from her basement, sharing Edna’s physique and appearance. There were about thirty-five of them, the same amount of people around me.
The lights immediately burst, casting us all into darkness. Aside from the neighbors that suddenly rose around me, I could feel a presence. One that didn’t seem natural. A scream pierced the air, then another, then another. We tried to find the door, but when we did, the knob was hot to the touch, scorching my palm at the touch of it. The air was pierced by another scream, but this one was closer. My mother’s grip on my shoulder no longer had pressure upon my arm. I turned to see her disappear, as if into the maw of a great creature, blood and organs dripping from its mouth. My father froze in place, a silent scream upon his lips. The creature made short work of him, severing his torso from his legs. His legs shortly thereafter followed suit.
Strangely, I didn’t cry or scream. Despite the lack of vision, I could feel the presence of it inches from my face. It stank of death and various viscera it just gorged itself on. I could hear and feel the hot breath as it came toward me, opening it to devour me. I smiled. This is the price of protection, and I was willing to pay it. Death at the hands of the Neighborhood Watch was better than death at the hands of anything else.
Thank you for listening. If you enjoyed these stories, head on over to my website at www.scarystorytime.com and make a comment. You can also visit me on social media. Get all of my links at www.spookyboorhodes.com.
That’s all for tonight.
I’ll see you in your nightmares.
