Truth is more horrifying than fiction...

 
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"Of the vast number of religions that exist today, one common bond

binds them; The belief that something watches over them."

 

My great aunt had spiraled into a bad depression over this, as she struggled on the edge of a nervous breakdown. She was in no shape to look after a sick baby, let alone herself. Adoption was the answer that she came up with, as she knew she could not handle the inevitable. My grandmother, bless her soul, would have no part of that. For many years she had made it on her own, much of the time holding down two jobs to make ends meet for her, my mother (then only 4 years old), and my three uncles. You see, my grandfather had also heeded the call of the "bottle" and had hit the road. Times weren't easy, but they always managed to have a roof over their head and food on the table. There was always room for family, after all, what is more important? Baby Dale would not go to strangers for the short time he was alive, he would be with loving family. My grandmother would have it no other way.

So baby Dale became a part of my grandmothers household. My mother and baby Dale forged a bond that would last forever. As a tribute to my mothers resourcefulness that is with her to this day, the problem of baby Dale's immobility was quickly solved when she had my uncles salvage parts from old baby carriages around the town and they constructed a working buggy. My mother would take baby Dale everywhere in that buggy, and you never saw one without the other. The baby spent so much time in that carriage, that is nickname from that day onward would forever be "Buggy"

Then the sad day came, the inevitable happened. One morning, while out in his buggy with my mother and uncles, his short little life ended. My mother was devastated, and being only four, could not understand why God would take him away from her. The day of the funeral, my mother made a vow that her first born would be named in his memory, regardless, boy or girl. My mother imagined at his gravesite that she saw him going to heaven in a carriage, and waving goodbye to her happily. This was an image that would stick with her forever.

Little did anybody know that just 14 years later, this bond between my mother and Buggy would overcome the boundaries of death itself, to manifest itself as HIM....The Dark Man....The one who always watches...

 waiting....

 

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Email The Author -  Dale A. Moses