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Tuesday, December 18, 2012

Es By Maxime Lê

Ladies and gentlemen,

Over the course of the last four years, I've had the pleasure of posting other people's work on my blog, showcasing what I deem to be fantastic stories by extremely talented people.

This post is no exception.

Writing by a Twitter friend of mine, this story is designed to chill you to your bone.  Use the comment box below to voice your opinion on this story.


Rhiannon Elizabeth Irons

Entry one: my youth.

So, I was born in a weird, fucked up way I guess. My parents were Satanists. It’s... not the best kind of religion, well, cult you’d want to be born in but I was born in it nonetheless. Right smack in the middle of a séance I broke my mother’s waters. My mom was too entranced by some spirit that supposedly came from Hell.

Thankfully my father noticed, or I would have dropped head first onto the floor and break the chalk pentagram and probably crack my skull open... or make my mom’s belly explode and I’d come screaming out like a baby Alien in Aliens. Anyways, he noticed and did some ending ritual and my mother came out of the trance – freaked out obviously. A couple of hours later, I came to this world!

“What should we name her?”  My father asked.

“Emily. Yes, Emily, like we’ve talked about. That’s a nice name!” my mother replied, in between tears of joy.

“Emily it is! Emily Mo—”

My dad was cut off by Child Services and a few Connecticut cops bursting in the deliverance room with full papers and permits obligating their possession of me and jailing my parents.
“Sir, Ma’am, you are under arrest, by the state of Connecticut police we relieve custody of your child.”

Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you. My parents – other than being Satanists – were big time into cocaine. In the state of Connecticut my parents robbed several banks and they always moved houses when the slightest trace that the police might be onto them was presented. So being born to Satanic-coke-head-major-criminal parents, you could say the government didn’t want me in those hands at all.

So there I was just minutes into the world and the first thing I’m put in is an ambulance where a nurse tended to me. I was put up for adoption and a quite elderly senile couple who I came to know as “mom” and “dad” signed some papers and I became their daughter. The only thing Child Services liked about me was my name – Emily. They thought it was nice, and it’s the only thing of my not even a week past they’ve made me keep. They erased my last name, they erased my real parents. But now, I was named Emily Waters, daughter of Roger and Mary Waters.

Growing up was weird too. In preschool I was the only girl with blue eyes and black hair. Evidently I was the odd one out and I was always playing alone in the school yard or in class with my plastic doll I’d never let go. His name was Es. Es was the best. Es wasn’t just a doll.
Remember when I said that my mother was supposedly entranced by a spirit from Hell? Well, that spirit was Es. And he did come from Hell. That’s the only reason I know of my real parents’ past, because Es was haunting them all the time. Es told me he felt like my real father because he said he was always protecting me from danger inside the womb, and as soon as I got out.

I was attached to an old doll the Waters had in their home, so I took it with me everywhere, and Es took the opportunity to possess it. So Es became the doll, and Es came with me wherever I went to protect me. I’d have fits if I couldn’t take him anywhere. I bathed with him, played with him, and ate with him ... everything!

Es told me everybody’s dirty little secrets. In preschool, I found out that the most popular kid, Susan-with-gold-hair kissed Timmy-the-fast behind the big tree. Okay, sure, you might not think that’s a dirty little secret but hey, I was what... 5? And having had kissed a boy with cooties at 5 was a big deal back then.

As I grew up through preschool and moved on to elementary, and, well, bullying started to happen. Susan obviously started to pick on me. School and bullying came down to the basics of survival – being hunter, and prey. The biggest picked on the smallest, and I was the smallest in every case.

One day, I was playing with Es in the grass, and he was telling me about life, and how it worked. How we would all die eventually when suddenly he got picked up by Susan. And then an entourage started to form.

“Oh hey Emily!” she said in her chirpy voice.

I already had tears in my eyes – oh God what would happen to Es?

“Give him back.” I said, as I gritted my teeth, trying to sound as tough as I could with my 11 year old voice.

The crowd around us laughed... at me, the weird black haired girl who plays with her doll in 6th grade.

“Oh? Or else what?”

“Or else he will hurt you!”

As I said that Es’ glass eyes turned to look at me, and it seemed only I noted his head bob.
“Well...” she said, grabbing a lock of his brown hair “I’ll just hurt him instead.”

A huge chunk of hair pulled out from the plastic holdings and flew away into the wind. Afterwards she threw him on the ground and smashed his face, one of his glass eyes shattering.

I let out a scream of rage at that time and balled my eyes out. She was hurting Es! Inside the deafening sound of my tears I could hear Es call out.

“It’ll be okay...I won’t leave without taking her with me.”

I silently nodded and whispered, “Goodbye, Es...”

“Goodbye Emily. You see? This is death for me, like I was telling you about. Live your life.”

“But, will you be back?”


“I’ll be waiting!”

“It might take years...”

“It doesn’t matter Es I’ll never forget you! But, how will you get revenge?”

“Watch the news tomorrow.”

So I did. It turns out she was cold bloodedly killed in the middle of winter by a mad man named Esteban while she was walking on her way home. He was recently released from a mental hospital – but ‘unfortunately’ he was released too early. At this point he was returned to the institution, and in his room bloody pentagrams were found on the floor. The blood couldn’t have been identified. It was nobody’s on their database, or any database. Mystery blood.

I personally think Es brought it back from Hell. The river Styx is a mixture of rotting bodies and boiling blood. I’ve never heard of Es again after the incident with Susan...

Entry two: My experience

It only took me a year to forget what happened to and with Es. He was out of my life and I was starting a new stage – puberty.

My periods started at 12 and so did physical changes to my body. My tits began to grow, and so did myself. By grade 8, at 13, I had the appearance of a young lady. I was still lonely in the two years of junior-high... until grade nine.

In freshman I discovered a whole new world, a world hidden from my youth. My parents had begun wondering why I came home so late most nights after school. I mostly lied to them and told them I was gone studying at a friend’s house or was helping out for volunteer hours.

But honestly I came home late because I met Joseph. Joseph was one of the Goth kids in my school who then introduced me to other Goths. I guess I took on their characteristics too, because they were socially outcasts as well, and since high school kids come from various places, there were various outcasts. They found each other, and eventually they – or Joseph – found me eating alone at the cafeteria.

So I started to dress like them, picking interest in their music, their style, and their habits. I wore all black most of the time which went well with my black hair. Joseph’s was blonde, but he dyed his black to match mine.

Honestly, most of my after school’s were spent at or with Joseph. We got to know each other more and more and eventually I started to like him, which I promised myself I wouldn’t do, but couldn’t help but fall for his charm. He was a stranger; he became my friend, my bestfriend, and then, my boyfriend.

The way he and I hung out was by going out back in a little forest, maybe have a few friends around too, and he’d take out some weed and some paper rolls, and we’d light a joint. Jesus Christ, not the Christian’s messiah, but the figure of speech, marijuana becomes your best friend. 

We’d burn every few days and it came in easy supply. We had friends in high (haha, punny) places and always managed to get our hands on some. We never got in deep with the cops or a gang – which was good.

One night Joseph came over to my house, to meet my parents. They didn’t bother me too much about my style – they knew it was a teen thing, so they didn’t mind Joseph either. We’d both grow out of it eventually. He was nice and polite. So trustworthy enough that they let him spend the night with me as they went to a private high class party.

Fantastic, we had the house all to ourselves! The one place my parents knew never to go in was in my room – for they were forbidden. I didn’t want them to see Es and I have talks, I didn’t want them to take him away from me. They know now that I’ve stopped playing with him and taking him everywhere, but where he’s gone they know not where. He’s dead. He’s in Hell, punished by the Devil and other Demons.

You’re probably guessing why I wanted to go to my room. In my room, my parents weren’t allowed in, obviously, and my perfume would hopefully mask the skunk scent of weed. So we went in, locked the room and shared a joint.

I got buzzed hardcore that night. Everything he said was hilarious. Even his proposal to fuck.
“Hey, Em, let’s... fuck.”

I giggled and giggled and maybe even snorted, but Joseph somehow saw a yes in all that. I didn’t disagree, though. It’s been a full year, and soon, a year and three months. It was bound to happen anyway, so I did let it happen.

He climbed on top of me and undid my black chemise, revealing my white bra.


“...It’s... nice. Okay?”

He smiled and just kissed me while unclipping my bra, and he gently took it off and made it fall to the ground. He didn’t look at my bare chest at first; he was covering it with his strong body and kissing me. I could feel him getting stiff, and honestly it got me wet. 

As he made his way down my chest and fondled with my 32B’s, I started to undo my black jeans and slid them off, revealing my black panties.

“Mmm... I like this better.” He said very sensually, looking up at me as he winked.

I giggled of horny-ness and of being high. I don’t know how much time we’ve spent, but the buzz was slowly lying off, and he still wasn’t in me.

He wanted to get me more wet, first, I guess, so he slid his hands in and euphoria kicked in – and Oh. My. God. Fuck the weed, this is better.

My back arches and I moan in pleasure and he goes in and out, but then suddenly a loud crash is heard from the basement...

The power gets knocked out.

Entry three: My horror

Ho-lee-fucking-shit. Worst mood kill ever. No electricity = no light, no heat. I suppose we could make our own heat but... he pulled out and dried his fingers, trying the light switch.

“The power’s out.”

“Joseph, don’t leave me like this.”

“No, babe, I’ll be back. We learned this is physics today – how to deal with a circuit box.”

“But... it’s dark. Want me to come with you?”

“Sure, just stay behind me I don’t want you to trip on something.”

He lit the way with an app on his iPhone and we made it to the basement. The darkness was thick, and his phone got sapped of its energy. The light disappeared, darkness surrounded us.

“Hang on, stay right here. I think I know where the switch is.”

Bad idea Joseph... bad idea... I thought to myself. I didn’t want to lose him.

A hand quickly found mine and he said, “I found it, c’mon!”

He dragged me with all his might across the cold concrete floor and my feet slipped in something slimy. I didn’t remember anything falling over or anything... anyways, it stuck to my feet and its light “splish” on the floor echoed throughout the black silence.

“Ah, here.”

He let’s go of my hand, and with a loud metallic clang the power comes back on.

When my eyes get readjusted I immediately just checked what was under my feet. It was red..., I looked down and I see that I’ve left red footsteps. As I trace them back from the source, they begun by me landing in a wide, dark red pool of liquid, and still the vibrations of splashing make it blurry. I look up to see the source...

And its Joseph hanging from the ceiling, his throat was cut open, what’s left of his blood still spurting out.

Entry four: Six 6 VI

From what I saw with the tears in my eyes, a line of blood flowed out and formed letters. Letters became words, words became phrases. 

They read:

Emily having a good time?

‘Specially since you’ve forgotten me...

Forgotten you? Forgotten who? At the time I couldn’t help myself but to think who!? I was just in so much shock. Joseph, dead. The boy who just pleasured me... dead! I noticed something strange about the letters of the phrases... they both began with a -- the door bell rang.

Ding dong...

Ding dong...

Good! Someone’s here! I ran towards the stairs, but the blood on my feet made me slip, and cut open my chin. God DAMN it hurt.

Ding dong...

Ding dong...

It could be that my parents were back! What time was it anyways? As I got to the kitchen the clock read 6. Six? Couldn’t be. My parents left by then.

Ding dong...

Ding dong...

At the 6th ring, the person stopped.

I answer the door.

It’s not my parents, it’s a police officer. Thank God.

“Sir! Oh please sir! My friend just got murdered in the basement! You’ve got to help him please!”

He didn’t seem normal...his eyes seemed... empty.

On the floor he dropped some printed out pictures. I picked them up, my hands trembling violently. With some light I could make out what it was. In the background were crashed cars, possibly on fire. But the center of the frame was what caught my eye. Four people dead. Their faces burned off, one is missing a head. They’re placed in a specific order. A male, missing his head was placed in a “C” shape, but flipped. Another male, his head thin and bony, also a “C” shape, but under the first. Then, two women, placed in a “5” shape.

Upon observing closer, the number the picture was a picture of the number 35 made of four humans.

“...Who are these people?” I hesitantly asked the cop. I thought I knew an answer... but was too afraid of it.

“Your real and adoptive parents.”

That’s it. I balled my eyes out. Something was happening.

Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang.

Six gun shots. The officer was down – he had shot himself. No police car, either.

6 rings, 6 shots, on the 6th hour.

I scream and terror and run into my room, and lock the door. Behind it I hear nothing, silence. In my room there is peace.

But... only one thing disturbs the quiet of this room. In the corner of my eye I notice the rocking of a crib...




It stopped rocking. I blink long, I blink hard, and I open my eyes, still quite watery.

There’s no more crib.

I’m not in my room.

I’m not anywhere.

I blink again.

I’m in the centre of the pentagram, my parents’ bodies float in the air, the shape of the number 35. Joseph’s hanging body shows “Emily having a good time? ‘Specially since you’ve forgotten me...” I understand now.

Es. He’s back. He’s back and he’s angry – I’ve forgotten him.

I blink again, and there he is. His torn hair, broken eye, thrashed clothes and broken head, standing in front of me. 

This is the end.

“Your mom transferred the curse when she gave birth to you.”

“That’s why you’ve been following me all my life... why didn’t you stay dead?”

“A curse never dies, a curse is reborn.”

“What happens... when I die?”

Es presents me with a book, and a bloody pen.

“Write your biography. Make it short. ”

Reader, this is what you’re reading. My final words are what lay after this.

I sincerely hope you don’t
Lay your eyes upon
The words that are before you... the
Curse can only be transmitted
Upon thee who witness, or hear of it
You, my dear, just did...........................................................................................................

Look behind you, Es will be watching. 

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