Why Won’t You Look at Me?

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Not because it was afraid to be seen, I had the chance to do so many times before, maybe that's what it wanted. I'll tell you, when I finally saw it, I've wished that every single fiber in my body belonged to anyone, but me, and isn't that fear the reason why we started to believe in God

“in the first place, pretending that someone else is in control, but I know it's there,”

watching me, hearing me tell you this, it knows me, and now it knows you too. Who was to say that nothing lingers around your home, watching you while you clean, or listening to your breathing next to your bed, who was to say nothing's listening with you right now? My name is Edwin, and here is a scary story.

It all started one evening while talking with a friend on FaceTime. It was by herself, like I was, just across town. Her husband, again, away from work, and me alone in the house for another week.

As always, she would ask about my sons and how they were doing, and as always, I told her

where they were, and how proud I felt of them. One of these days, I said, "My oldest will be coming around one of these days." I could see her folding her clothes in her bedroom as we spoke, the new way of keeping each other company, a thing we learned over the pandemic, and went down to the kitchen, phone and hand, and flicked on the lights.

With the other hand, I opened the fridge and took out everything I needed for my turkey sandwich. I just wanted something quick this time, turning up two pans, or just myself seemed like too much these days, mayonnaise, mustard, and slices of turkey from yesterday, I was warming up the bread in between the long stretches of silence with her on the phone, but I needed

both hands to spread the mayo on the bread, so I put the phone down, leaning against a large tin of coffee that I had on the little table in the kitchen. I looked away for what must have been five seconds, but when I looked back at the screen, my life saw was the screen with the list of contacts. She probably got disconnected, I thought to myself, herring with the bread and waiting for

her to call back, but she didn't call. I ate my sandwich in peace, even turned on the television for a little bit, and once I was done in the silence was beginning to spread around the house, I decided to call her back. Tracy, I said, "You hung up on me, you jerk, she laughed. How's your son doing?" she asked, out of nowhere.

My son, he's all right, I responded, a little bearded out by the question, and after

Soft chill ran down my back, my son wasn't home, nobody was, I had been alone for several days now, especially those evenings, well, mine is the two dogs. I asked if she was joking, and she nearly spilled her coffee when she saw how serious

“I was. I thought it wasn't at home. I saw him, she said, "Who is walking up behind you?”

I thought he was going to surprise you." My stood there in silence, my son hadn't gotten home, that was the only one in the kitchen. Foot scaring me, I remember saying, "There's no one home." I saw him, she insisted, "He was tall, he was your son, I know him." I was standing right behind you, I begged her, at this point, not to hang up on me again,

not at that moment. I was, after all, alone in the house, at least, I thought it was.

I never heard or saw anyone else come in. All of the doors were locked and the dogs hadn't

barked. All I could think of at least at that moment was just how someone approaches when

“they're trying to surprise you and how eerie it can look if you don't have context.”

Watching someone approach you silently, it's something I still can't shake off. But several things that happened to me already at this house, and this confirmed to me that I wasn't safe. I should listen to those signs, so those shadows that appeared out of the corners of my eyes, the footsteps in the middle of the night. But I didn't. It was a cold afternoon and I had just kind of work. Tired, thinking maybe I was getting

sick after one of my customers showed up sneezing all over the desk. He apologized after the damage was done, but still. Anyway, I came in through the main door, the one by the living room, and I sat on the couch before the silence started creeping in. It was

“like a deafening kind of silence that I can only explain as when the refrigerator turns”

off. The thing that made you realize that there was a humming filling up the house that you

never noticed, until it was gone. It was like that. Like that rare silence between

the crashing waves by the pier, or when you close a window from your bedroom. Stillness, not peaceful and comfortable. I immediately opened my eyes, not noticing that they were closed before, and I watched. The shadow moved into the column of the living room, a pillar that had been there ever since we moved in. I would have said that it hit behind it, but no, it went into the column and vanished completely. Maybe I was tired again and imagining

things. Sure, that's a possibility, just like how it's a possibility that it was real. So I got up and stepped outside for a second, but that tiredness was already there. I knew that once I got to my room, my eyes would shut, I would wake up in a few hours and follow my simple, nightly routine. It turned out to be anything, but that. I don't know how I got to bed, but that sleep was deep. I shut off my phone and everything just to be

sure that I wouldn't be woken up. I left it by the front door. If we had known nearby neighbors, we were all separated by a semi-large field around here, and the only sounds that would come from the outside would be the people honking along the dirt roads for no reason. To dogs, maybe, or to signal others to come up in the gates. There was a different sound this time. A vaguely familiar sound that I had learned to ignore some nights. The soft

creak of a bending floor board next to me. I turned away, like I always did. But it must

have been just how tired I was that I miscalculated, and I rolled my shoulders off the bed and the rest of my body landed straight on the floor. I tried to get up immediately, so I put my hands on the floor boards next to my bed when I felt it. A cold, bony foot and a leg against my arm. My eyes were open. Had forgotten that even at night, in the pitch darkness, I would open them and see nothing, but this time. The sun was still out, and I sighed

for the first time. I looked up, as I leaned against the edge of the bed, my legs failing to hold me up as I collapsed the floor. My arms were reaching to the bottom corners of this bed, and I begged them to pull me away from this thing. I crawled as far as I could

and old creature, thousands of wrinkles, some of them cracked at the folds, with dark blood

“forming lines and strange patterns. Patterns that looked like symbols all around its legs”

and arms, but its face, dark hair, missing in patches, if it reached its nose and just below the ear was greasy, falling straight down as it went. They covered part of its eyes, large and dark, looking steadily in my direction. They just stared, the deafening silence was around me once more. I could see its jaw dropping little by little. The gums and the inside of its mouth were a dead purple. The beauty that remained were stained yellow and its breath,

that of sulfur and sewage that escaped its lungs, reached me. Nothing worked. Not my arms or voice, I like it feel where the tears streaming down to my chest as I sat there frozen. It slowly rotated its body and started approaching me, leaning its face closer to mine. And I was it sure, if I was breathing anymore, I could smell nothing and feel nothing, not even the heartbeat that had been thumping at the side of my neck and blocking up my ears

just a few seconds ago. It opened its mouth very slowly and stared into my eyes. "Mom," it said. "Mom can you open the door?" "It was my son, but at least his voice." My family managed to scream that it realized that I could see it. I screamed even louder once I caught my breath, loud enough that I felt my throat burned from deep inside my chest. It smiled and backed away, crossing straight through the small gap between the frame and

the door and then disappeared into the hallway. My sat there, vomit, finally working its way

up my throat into the floor, if the rest of my body could only hold me up, as I waited for the thing to return. Hell isn't for its dragging footsteps, but there was nothing. "For that rest of the afternoon I sat there, wondering if anyone would believe the explanations of what I had just seen until the sky turned orange outside. It was going to get dark soon. So I dragged myself toward the door frame, I pulled myself up and managed to get myself

out the living room. From the side table by the door, I grabbed the phone and keys, stumbled into the car, and locked the door. Out from the car I watched the windows for movement,

but there was nothing. I stayed there deep into the night, so I finally managed the courage

to call my friend the wicker of. I didn't tell her anything about what happened that night. I told her enough to not feel like I was losing my mind, but I had taken an app and had

“a nightmare that I felt different. I put my light together on the spot. I think someone”

got into the house, or something got into the house, I don't know. You saw something the other day too, remember? Your son, yeah. It was not my son, I said, regretting it immediately. Had just woken her up and was asking for her help, and now I was treating her like this. She stayed quiet. Okay, maybe not your son, but I saw somebody. Then he stopped before he got to you. I felt that sensation of vomit crawling up my body again. He was standing there,

behind you, waiting for you to turn around. I didn't go back inside the house that night. It was like at work, where you let the work drip into another day or onto someone else. Thinking that if I simply stared at the windows, I would see something, and I would have proof

“that it wasn't going crazy. But I think happened. It was three in the morning by now,”

and I was finally succumbing to the exhaustion. It was like those nights at the airport,

shallow, restless sleep where your body is shutting down, but your mind is unalert, watching for sudden movements or for the tugging at your luggage. Everything from the flapping of the wings of the moths to the frogs in the distance, any change in the rhythm would wake me up. The wind across the field, the headlights of a car through the hills, even the soft knock from inside the house.

I didn't go to work the next morning. It didn't even bother to call in.

I hadn't been to the bathroom and didn't want to. And now even the sunlight didn't seem to erase

“what happened the previous night. The thing was no longer afraid of it. It was done hiding.”

The dogs at state outside in their little dog houses, and they came wagging their tails up to the car door. I opened it and they lowered their hands. They trusted me. And so I walked over the door, slowly, like the house belonged to someone else. The dogs stopped walking right at the door frame and wind as they took two steps back. Still, I stepped in and walked through the house. Every room, closets, cabinets, I checked the windows and the locks. Nothing. No sign that anything

or anyone had been there. And so I got to my bedroom. A puddle of vomit on the floor next to the bed,

dragged on by the socks I was still wearing. I stepped in and went to the check the windows.

“The curtains were shot. The same ones I had seen that night. The ones that were wide open”

just a few hours ago. The sheets were pulled down. Like someone had gotten up in a hurry or falling down. I didn't sleep in that room again. I moved to the living room for the next few night, slept with the lights on. The television running. I apologize that worked. Made up an emergency that they believed. And it was like that for a few days. Until the silence started finding its way

back. The television and sounds from the outside were becoming nothing again. That same familiar

pattern. Like when your mind ignores everything and hyper focuses on one thing. That one footsteps. The creek on the floorboards. Like something's moving around you. Watching.

“It was the fourth day after the incident when it approached again. Or at least try to.”

I just dosed off on the couch when I heard it. Footsteps. Slow and careful crossing the hallway. It was nothing moving or breathing. But I felt it stopped at the entrance at the living room. And then my son's voice. The oldest one. Mom. It sounded scared. Like when he was little and I would be with him until he fell asleep. It blended with when he wanted to know if I was home without waking me up. I tried to answer, but I wanted to scream or turn my head. I wanted to open

my eyes completely just to make sure. But something else something deep inside of me kept me still. Because now, I knew that I had seen it already. And I felt like I was being tested. I was still facing the back of the couch for seconds that felt like hours before I heard it again. It was closer. Mom. Why aren't you answering me? The voice cracked a little bit. Like a recording. A perfect replica of a voice I was familiar with. My hand twitched just a little. And then the

footsteps continued. One step. Then another. Slow. Careful. Closing the distance between the back of my head and it. That's when I smelled that same air rot. It was right behind me. It was leaning closer. The air was moving near my ear. I had feel it. And then it whispered. Quietly. Almost curiously. Mom, why won't you look at me? I froze. Even though I had wanted to move, I couldn't. I don't know for how long I was there in that couch, but the sun had long been set.

That's when I left. I didn't pack anything. Instead I borrowed it with a charger once I got to my friend's house. I also stayed in a motel and in my car for one of those nights. The ones when I was sure I was ready to go back to my house. But wasn't. And just last night I got a call for my son. I had to mention any of this to him when he had been two days since we had last spoken. He had gotten a project across the state and would visit two times a month.

I answered right away. Mom, it was him. It had to be. The voice had the same tone, but still I couldn't be sure. It felt delayed. I don't know. Yeah, it's me, I said. Are you okay? There was a silence on the other line. And then I'm home. The voice said. I felt another cold chill take over my body.

More silence. I waited. He said. So I was starting to form on my phone case and on screen.

“Where are you right now? I asked. There was silence again. As if it was thinking of what to say.”

I'm still here. The voice said. I don't know if that was him. But he hasn't answered his phone when I call him back. So still, I sit here. And the car at the end of the road,

the house still visible from between the trees and this place that's never silent.

. As a child, you will be able to get one faster. A car at a product market, then a next step or a big enterprise. With KEE, the development of the car is also the advantage of the security and the demand for it. And that's before you. Where are the security and the supply and the safety of the car at the end of the road?

“By the way, it's been a long time since. That's why there are many startups in front of the car.”

And when it comes to the car, it won't be in the month. Now start at the end of the road.

Oh my gosh Rob, do you see that? We've waited our entire lives for this. He's so beautiful. How many people can actually say they've seen a big foot in person? I know, I know, I know. Look at how the full moon just glistens off of his majestic fur. Kind of stinks. Like 50 wet dogs. Wait, wait, wait. He's arching his back. I think he's about to how.

“We are the Brawhile podcast and we are never ending quest to explore all of the unknown,”

true crime, paranormal demons, hauntings, aliens, UFOs, urban legends, and all of the occult.

We are your one stop, shop anytime you want to take a walk on the dark side. You can find the Brawhile podcast anywhere you download your favorite podcast. We have new episodes every week. Thank you so much for listening. You can find us on Twitter, Instagram, Facebook, all at pro-higho podcast. This episode of Scary Story podcast was written and produced by me, Edwin Collarovias, with a support of the Scary FM team and our supporters at Scary Plus.

Thanks again for your ideas for stories. I actually got an email about Japanese legends and basing a story off of one of them, which sounds like it could be a really, really spooky thing that could get Scary really fast. So let's see what I can come up with here. If you're subscribed, I'll be back next week with another story. So don't forget to share this story with someone who would be into it. A review or a comment somewhere where it'll also be your super cool,

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