June 11, 2011

Psychosis or ghost story, I don’t know.

When I was little, probably about four or five years old, I had an imaginary “friend” (I think.) It was yellow and about four feet tall (taller than me at the time), bipedal, and had oversized eyes that always looked straight ahead otherwise, relatively human and naked. I called the thing “Fishy.” The wierdest thing, though, was it scared the hell out of me. I didn’t want anything to do with it, and I couldn’t imagine, as a child, that it was coming from inside my head.

It “walked” (more like skated along) on the walls in the rooms of our house, and apparently could not leave those surfaces. I knew that if I played outside, it could only follow me to the limits of the garage. It always followed me, too, even though I often told it not to. I had difficulty concentrating on drawing things or reading because Fishy was always standing somewhere on the wall, looking over my shoulder. It did not ever sit down, it didn’t have facial expressions, and it never made any noise.

The only times I ever interacted with Fishy were when I was sick in the middle of the night or when I woke up panicked from nightmares. Those times, if I looked at it intently, Fishy would methodically start drifting along the wall towards my parents’ bedroom; around the corner, out the door, and down the hall. As soon as he was out of sight, I’d start calling for Mom (as in: “Mooooom, I’m gonna barrrrrf…”) and she’d show up quickly (god bless ya, mom) to help me through it. Fishy would come back, though, as soon as I’d recovered. Then it would stare for the rest of the night, two days, or longer, in the direction of my parents’ room.

It finally vanished when my sister was born in 1992. I was almost 8 years old by then, and I’d been ignoring Fishy for about a year, but not so much that I didn’t notice it had learned to fly off the wall and visit the floor from time to time.

There was one instance, in the last two months of Fishy-ness when I saw it at someone else’s house; a new home that friends of mine, two sisters, were moving into. Their father walked into the room where we were playing with the moving boxes to give us another one, and in the darkened laundry room behind him, filling the entire doorway at many times it’s normal size, was Fishy, staring down the father’s back. It wasn’t scary, so much as irritating.

We moved away from there less than a year later.

– Posted by Quex; Fark

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