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Paranormal Report: Black Eyed Children Stories
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<blockquote data-quote="Opmmur" data-source="post: 92812" data-attributes="member: 13"><p><span style="font-size: 15px"><strong><strong> <span style="font-size: 26px"><em>16 Terrifying Encounters With ‘The Black Eyed Kids’ </em></span></strong></strong></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 15px"><strong><strong><a href="http://thoughtcatalog.com/christine-stockton/" target="_blank">By: Chrissy Stockton</a></strong></strong></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 15px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 15px"><strong>9. I was having a visceral experience all over my body.</strong></span></p><p><a href="http://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/1hcgdg/black_eyed_kids/" target="_blank">CrashAtlas:</a></p><p></p><p>I’d be lying if I told you I didn’t know about Black Eyed Kids before this happened to me, late summer last year. I definitely did. Now, in the moment, that idea never crossed my mind. But afterward? Hell yes. And the thought lead to all kinds of regret I realize is stupid, but I am getting ahead of myself.</p><p></p><p>Let me tell you about my neighborhood. I live in a poor part of town. A bit ghetto, a bit of the barrio, a bit of the lower economic class of a cross-section of races. It’s L.A. The apartment complex spans a short block, it’s dusty brown like the desert we live in. It’s got two pools, lots of little Mexican children and, for the most part, a pretty friendly population.</p><p></p><p>I am a destitute writer trying to make it in Hollywood, so I spend my free time writing. When this happened I was working mostly in the mornings and afternoons. I would get home, hit the gym and then settle in for an evening in front of the computer.</p><p></p><p>It’s pretty common for the evenings in the summer to be chaotic around our apartment complex. Kids playing in the pool, the ice-cream man pushing his cart up and down the sidewalk, women talking outside the laundry-room (hey, I do my own laundry, but I am pretty much the only guy I see here doing it). You know. Nice. Low-income but pleasant. Like a mixed-race 21st Century version of a Fifties Sitcom.</p><p></p><p>And people will knock on your door. Sometimes to borrow something. I cook, so neighbors pop by to find out the origins of the great aromas wafting from my kitchen window.</p><p></p><p>Sometimes for a little help working on a broken-down car. But mostly it’s kids selling candy bars or Christmas wrapping paper. Or jittery tweakers selling magazine subscriptions. Or old Mexican men selling bootleg DVD’s. LOTS of Jehovah’s Witnesses.</p><p></p><p>Because it’s hot out I leave my windows open (A.C. Isn’t cheap and I’ve got no money, remember?) hoping for the cross breeze. That means, though I can’t see anyone from where I sit and work, I can hear them very clearly as they walk up to my door.</p><p></p><p>When I hear someone knock, I answer it. Besides buying the occasional candy bar, I smile, politely decline, wish them a nice day and send them off. No big deal.</p><p></p><p>That evening it was quiet. Which was strange in and of itself. I should at least have been able to hear the distant sound of Ranchero music. I heard a couple of people walk up to my door. I am not the first apartment in my courtyard, so usually I hear the salespeople as they knock on my neighbors doors and work their way around to me. Not this time. Whoever it was walked right up to my door and knocked.</p><p></p><p>I got up to answer it, reaching for the door handle when a chill went through my body like I have never experienced. A cold tightness in my chest. I halted my hand movement towards the door handle and placed it flat on the door as if I was feeling for heat from a fire.</p><p></p><p>I have a peephole on my door, but it never crossed my mind to use it. I stood there with my hand flat on the door and listened. They knocked again.</p><p></p><p>I don’t scare easy. And I wasn’t exactly afraid, but I was having a visceral experience all over my body. A base, fear reaction. Just like I could hear them, they had heard me move to the door. They knew I was inside.</p><p></p><p>“Yes?” I said, “Who is it?” A boy’s voice answered. “We need to use your phone.”</p><p></p><p>“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.” I started laughing. I stress laugh, when I am in pain or under pressure. They heard me laughing. And neither of us moved for about a minute or two. A really, really, long minute or two.</p><p></p><p>Finally they walked away. Not to any of the other of the eight doorways within fifteen feet. Not to ask anyone else. Before they could have gone more than a dozen yards, curiosity reasserted itself and I yanked the door open, running after them to see who it was and where they were headed. The courtyard of my complex was completely empty.</p><p></p><p>Afterwards, I thought the experience fit the stories about Black Eyed Kids and I kicked myself for not opening the door. Coming face-to-face with Black Eyed Kids? How cool would that have been? But then I remember that feeling, my skin crawling and the certain knowledge in me at that moment, there was no way in hell I was opening that door at the time.</p><p><span style="font-size: 15px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 15px"><strong>10. He told me to never agree to help them.</strong></span></p><p><a href="http://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/rc80i/black_eyed_kids/" target="_blank">bloodybones:</a></p><p></p><p>It was a cold October evening, not too far off from Halloween. I remember sitting in my room, playing the original suikoden. The evening was slowly creeping by so I decided to go to the corner store. It was only 3 blocks, shouldn’t be much trouble right.</p><p></p><p>During my walk I see the normal. The occasional person putting up Halloween decorations and kids playing in their yards, but this story is about something far more sinister. I remember seeing two teens about age 14, knocking on a door asking to use the phone, which of course I thought was weird because most teens these days have phones. As I kept walking, they stopped and stared at me for a short moment. I felt the blood in veins chill. I felt so creeped out I hurried to the next block. The next block seemed fine, until I looked behind me and saw the two teens were following me. I took off sprinting to the store at this point.</p><p></p><p>I saw the sign for the store, and relief washed over me. I opened the door, and I told the cashier about what happened on the way here. He looked at me slightly creeped out, and told me a story about this happening to him in his hometown and how they found him the day he left, and asked for his help, in an emotionless voice, and he told me to never agree to help.</p><p></p><p>He told me another story, but at that point I was no longer paying attention because they were standing at the door asking to be let in. The cashier freaked out, and locked the door.</p><p></p><p>The teens never seem to waver or leave. They wouldn’t step away from the door. It had been an hour. The cashier and I were ready to fight our way out, but instead he took me out the back. The one teen came around the back just as the door shut behind us.</p><p></p><p>Can you help me is all he could say. He was closing in on us, and his eyes. They were black as a starless night. They were peering right into my soul. I couldn’t help but gaze into his eyes. The terror, I can’t remember too much of what happened next, but I do recall the sounds of struggle.</p><p></p><p>When I came too, the cashier was struggling with both teens. He was calling out to me for help. I ran towards them, grabbed him by his collar and pulled him between the two, and knocking them over in the process. I didn’t look back until I was near my house, the cashier was gone but the teens were still following behind. I ran into my house, closed all the blinds, and turned the music up.</p><p></p><p>I got lucky that day, but I’m not sure how long I can keep out of there grasp. I tried to find and thank the cashier for saving my life that day, but he didn’t show up to work after that. I asked his boss, and he told me he called over the phone and quit. He said he was moving.</p><p></p><p>To this very day I sometimes feel the fear of those eyes watching me as I drive to work. I sometimes will look out my window and swear I see them watching my house from a couple blocks away. Waiting for their next chance.</p><p><span style="font-size: 15px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 15px"><strong>11. Survival story.</strong></span></p><p><a href="http://www.reddit.com/r/BlackEyedKidsStories/comments/rdgrm/black_eyed_kids/" target="_blank">pyric_lancaster:</a></p><p></p><p>I helped them once. never, ever, under any circumstance do it. im not sure what they do but it feels as if they are ripping your soul out, they get really close to you, and you get amazingly drowsy, if it werent for my girlfriend showong up mid-“invasion” and kicking them out i probably would be dead. i didnt even see the black eyes until i had let them in, they’re getting smarter.</p><p><span style="font-size: 15px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 15px"><strong>12. Black eyed grandparents?</strong></span></p><p><a href="http://www.reddit.com/r/Paranormal/comments/t86ze/my_strange_encounter_with_an_old_woman_with_pitch/" target="_blank">DjMonkeydo:</a></p><p></p><p>Bit of scene setting. In 96/97 I lived in a fairly old terraced house with a cemetary at the end of the road – cliche I know but it’s an important detail – nothing remarkable about the house or the area it was just convenient for college.</p><p></p><p>Anyway I was up late one night on the PC in my bedroom which looked out onto the street. Was about 2 or 3 am. For whatever reason, probably to give my eyes a rest, I wandered over to the window and looked down the road in the direction of the cemetary (although it was too far down the street for me to see) and I saw 3 people walking slowly down the road.</p><p></p><p>I could see that they were quite old and appeared to be dressed in funeral clothes which given the hour was weird. There were 2 women and a man, I’d put their ages at about 80 and the woman in the middle was being steadied/guided by the other woman and the man and as they came closer I got the impression that she was upset. My first thought was that given their age she had recently buried her husband and grief had caused her to behave slightly irrationally causing her to try to be out near the cemetary at that hour and that the other 2 were friends/relatives trying to look after her and get her home. Anyway it was all interesting enough for me to carry on watching as they got closer to the house.</p><p></p><p>Just outside the front of the house was a street lamp, I watched them as they made their way past but when they got to the lamp-post they all stopped and the upset woman in the middle looked up at me and grinned.</p><p></p><p>This was when things got weird – the grin became a sort of grimace and if there was any colour in her face to start with it was now dead white. At that point I realised I was staring right into her eyes, but her eyes were pitch black. Time sort of dilated. If you’ve ever crashed a car the final split second before you make impact seems to drag out as you process more information than normal in the timeframe, it was that sort of thing. I’m sure we only made eye contact for a second but it felt like several minutes as my peripheral vision faded and I felt like all I could see was these 2 black holes in her face drawing me in – although the distance between us didn’t change she somehow felt like she was coming closer and I was kind of aware although I couldn’t honestly say I could see them at that point that the 2 people with her were just continuing to look down the road as if frozen but waiting for this woman to finish whatever she was doing.</p><p></p><p>I was suddenly hit with this intense feeling of dread and panic so I threw myself on the floor. As soon as I’d broken her gaze I felt pretty stupid that this upset old woman who clearly needed help had spooked me so badly so I looked out the window again and there was no sign of them. It was a longish straight road and the house was towards the middle so Linford Christie would have had trouble getting out of sight in the time I looked away let alone 3 octagenarians.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Opmmur, post: 92812, member: 13"] [SIZE=4][B][B] [SIZE=7][I]16 Terrifying Encounters With ‘The Black Eyed Kids’ [/I][/SIZE][/B][/B][/SIZE] [SIZE=4][B][B][URL='http://thoughtcatalog.com/christine-stockton/']By: Chrissy Stockton[/URL][/B][/B] [B]9. I was having a visceral experience all over my body.[/B][/SIZE] [URL='http://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/1hcgdg/black_eyed_kids/']CrashAtlas:[/URL] I’d be lying if I told you I didn’t know about Black Eyed Kids before this happened to me, late summer last year. I definitely did. Now, in the moment, that idea never crossed my mind. But afterward? Hell yes. And the thought lead to all kinds of regret I realize is stupid, but I am getting ahead of myself. Let me tell you about my neighborhood. I live in a poor part of town. A bit ghetto, a bit of the barrio, a bit of the lower economic class of a cross-section of races. It’s L.A. The apartment complex spans a short block, it’s dusty brown like the desert we live in. It’s got two pools, lots of little Mexican children and, for the most part, a pretty friendly population. I am a destitute writer trying to make it in Hollywood, so I spend my free time writing. When this happened I was working mostly in the mornings and afternoons. I would get home, hit the gym and then settle in for an evening in front of the computer. It’s pretty common for the evenings in the summer to be chaotic around our apartment complex. Kids playing in the pool, the ice-cream man pushing his cart up and down the sidewalk, women talking outside the laundry-room (hey, I do my own laundry, but I am pretty much the only guy I see here doing it). You know. Nice. Low-income but pleasant. Like a mixed-race 21st Century version of a Fifties Sitcom. And people will knock on your door. Sometimes to borrow something. I cook, so neighbors pop by to find out the origins of the great aromas wafting from my kitchen window. Sometimes for a little help working on a broken-down car. But mostly it’s kids selling candy bars or Christmas wrapping paper. Or jittery tweakers selling magazine subscriptions. Or old Mexican men selling bootleg DVD’s. LOTS of Jehovah’s Witnesses. Because it’s hot out I leave my windows open (A.C. Isn’t cheap and I’ve got no money, remember?) hoping for the cross breeze. That means, though I can’t see anyone from where I sit and work, I can hear them very clearly as they walk up to my door. When I hear someone knock, I answer it. Besides buying the occasional candy bar, I smile, politely decline, wish them a nice day and send them off. No big deal. That evening it was quiet. Which was strange in and of itself. I should at least have been able to hear the distant sound of Ranchero music. I heard a couple of people walk up to my door. I am not the first apartment in my courtyard, so usually I hear the salespeople as they knock on my neighbors doors and work their way around to me. Not this time. Whoever it was walked right up to my door and knocked. I got up to answer it, reaching for the door handle when a chill went through my body like I have never experienced. A cold tightness in my chest. I halted my hand movement towards the door handle and placed it flat on the door as if I was feeling for heat from a fire. I have a peephole on my door, but it never crossed my mind to use it. I stood there with my hand flat on the door and listened. They knocked again. I don’t scare easy. And I wasn’t exactly afraid, but I was having a visceral experience all over my body. A base, fear reaction. Just like I could hear them, they had heard me move to the door. They knew I was inside. “Yes?” I said, “Who is it?” A boy’s voice answered. “We need to use your phone.” “Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.” I started laughing. I stress laugh, when I am in pain or under pressure. They heard me laughing. And neither of us moved for about a minute or two. A really, really, long minute or two. Finally they walked away. Not to any of the other of the eight doorways within fifteen feet. Not to ask anyone else. Before they could have gone more than a dozen yards, curiosity reasserted itself and I yanked the door open, running after them to see who it was and where they were headed. The courtyard of my complex was completely empty. Afterwards, I thought the experience fit the stories about Black Eyed Kids and I kicked myself for not opening the door. Coming face-to-face with Black Eyed Kids? How cool would that have been? But then I remember that feeling, my skin crawling and the certain knowledge in me at that moment, there was no way in hell I was opening that door at the time. [SIZE=4] [B]10. He told me to never agree to help them.[/B][/SIZE] [URL='http://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/rc80i/black_eyed_kids/']bloodybones:[/URL] It was a cold October evening, not too far off from Halloween. I remember sitting in my room, playing the original suikoden. The evening was slowly creeping by so I decided to go to the corner store. It was only 3 blocks, shouldn’t be much trouble right. During my walk I see the normal. The occasional person putting up Halloween decorations and kids playing in their yards, but this story is about something far more sinister. I remember seeing two teens about age 14, knocking on a door asking to use the phone, which of course I thought was weird because most teens these days have phones. As I kept walking, they stopped and stared at me for a short moment. I felt the blood in veins chill. I felt so creeped out I hurried to the next block. The next block seemed fine, until I looked behind me and saw the two teens were following me. I took off sprinting to the store at this point. I saw the sign for the store, and relief washed over me. I opened the door, and I told the cashier about what happened on the way here. He looked at me slightly creeped out, and told me a story about this happening to him in his hometown and how they found him the day he left, and asked for his help, in an emotionless voice, and he told me to never agree to help. He told me another story, but at that point I was no longer paying attention because they were standing at the door asking to be let in. The cashier freaked out, and locked the door. The teens never seem to waver or leave. They wouldn’t step away from the door. It had been an hour. The cashier and I were ready to fight our way out, but instead he took me out the back. The one teen came around the back just as the door shut behind us. Can you help me is all he could say. He was closing in on us, and his eyes. They were black as a starless night. They were peering right into my soul. I couldn’t help but gaze into his eyes. The terror, I can’t remember too much of what happened next, but I do recall the sounds of struggle. When I came too, the cashier was struggling with both teens. He was calling out to me for help. I ran towards them, grabbed him by his collar and pulled him between the two, and knocking them over in the process. I didn’t look back until I was near my house, the cashier was gone but the teens were still following behind. I ran into my house, closed all the blinds, and turned the music up. I got lucky that day, but I’m not sure how long I can keep out of there grasp. I tried to find and thank the cashier for saving my life that day, but he didn’t show up to work after that. I asked his boss, and he told me he called over the phone and quit. He said he was moving. To this very day I sometimes feel the fear of those eyes watching me as I drive to work. I sometimes will look out my window and swear I see them watching my house from a couple blocks away. Waiting for their next chance. [SIZE=4] [B]11. Survival story.[/B][/SIZE] [URL='http://www.reddit.com/r/BlackEyedKidsStories/comments/rdgrm/black_eyed_kids/']pyric_lancaster:[/URL] I helped them once. never, ever, under any circumstance do it. im not sure what they do but it feels as if they are ripping your soul out, they get really close to you, and you get amazingly drowsy, if it werent for my girlfriend showong up mid-“invasion” and kicking them out i probably would be dead. i didnt even see the black eyes until i had let them in, they’re getting smarter. [SIZE=4] [B]12. Black eyed grandparents?[/B][/SIZE] [URL='http://www.reddit.com/r/Paranormal/comments/t86ze/my_strange_encounter_with_an_old_woman_with_pitch/']DjMonkeydo:[/URL] Bit of scene setting. In 96/97 I lived in a fairly old terraced house with a cemetary at the end of the road – cliche I know but it’s an important detail – nothing remarkable about the house or the area it was just convenient for college. Anyway I was up late one night on the PC in my bedroom which looked out onto the street. Was about 2 or 3 am. For whatever reason, probably to give my eyes a rest, I wandered over to the window and looked down the road in the direction of the cemetary (although it was too far down the street for me to see) and I saw 3 people walking slowly down the road. I could see that they were quite old and appeared to be dressed in funeral clothes which given the hour was weird. There were 2 women and a man, I’d put their ages at about 80 and the woman in the middle was being steadied/guided by the other woman and the man and as they came closer I got the impression that she was upset. My first thought was that given their age she had recently buried her husband and grief had caused her to behave slightly irrationally causing her to try to be out near the cemetary at that hour and that the other 2 were friends/relatives trying to look after her and get her home. Anyway it was all interesting enough for me to carry on watching as they got closer to the house. Just outside the front of the house was a street lamp, I watched them as they made their way past but when they got to the lamp-post they all stopped and the upset woman in the middle looked up at me and grinned. This was when things got weird – the grin became a sort of grimace and if there was any colour in her face to start with it was now dead white. At that point I realised I was staring right into her eyes, but her eyes were pitch black. Time sort of dilated. If you’ve ever crashed a car the final split second before you make impact seems to drag out as you process more information than normal in the timeframe, it was that sort of thing. I’m sure we only made eye contact for a second but it felt like several minutes as my peripheral vision faded and I felt like all I could see was these 2 black holes in her face drawing me in – although the distance between us didn’t change she somehow felt like she was coming closer and I was kind of aware although I couldn’t honestly say I could see them at that point that the 2 people with her were just continuing to look down the road as if frozen but waiting for this woman to finish whatever she was doing. I was suddenly hit with this intense feeling of dread and panic so I threw myself on the floor. As soon as I’d broken her gaze I felt pretty stupid that this upset old woman who clearly needed help had spooked me so badly so I looked out the window again and there was no sign of them. It was a longish straight road and the house was towards the middle so Linford Christie would have had trouble getting out of sight in the time I looked away let alone 3 octagenarians. [/QUOTE]
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