Today is Friday the 13th. To celebrate, I'm listening to the "Doorways to Danger" episode of God Awful Movies. It reminded me of one of the most "supernatural" things that ever happened to me.
It was in the early 80s and I was maybe 9 or 10. I was hanging out with the kid next door (also 10) and she was telling me about a movie she saw at her sister's house (big age gap between them - sister was in her 20s and married). The Amityville Horror.
Was she too young to have seen this movie? Yes.
Was I too young to hear her interpretation? Yes.
Did we, with our degenerate, bloodthirsty 10-year-old brains overinflate everything and scare ourselves? Absolutely.
And then the walls began to bleed.
I am not even kidding you. We were sitting in her living room, in the dark, telling scary stories and we heard a strange dripping sound. She turned on the dining room light and we saw something streaming down one wall. It was dirty and rusty colored and smelled weird. A little metallic.
We absolutely freaked out. We stared at it for a while. Sniffed it. Touched it. Realized it was water mixed with rust and 70 years of dirt in the ceiling. Which, in itself, is a kind of horror story because we were a couple of 10-year-old kids in a house with an obviously broken pipe and no idea of what to do. Where were the parents? At work, of course. This was the 80s. My friend was afraid to call her mom because mom's job had a really strict policy against personal calls. "I think this counts as an emergency," I said.
I was about the only kid in the neighborhood with a stay-at-home mom, so she was sort of thrust into the role of everyone's mom. I went home and got her. She came back with me and found the shutoff valve in the basement.
So we knew it was a coincidence. The fact that we never told scary stories in her house again was also a coincidence.
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