'Black eyed boy' by C.W.Phoenix

This month we bring you three short stories in one, all based off the popular urban legend of the black eyed children. These stories all have aspects based off peoples real experiences. Are black eyed children a real paranormal phenomenon or are they just stories, you decide.

Black eyed boy

Part 1

I was a child myself the first time I met the black-eyed boy. I was far too young to have much knowledge about anything even remotely paranormal and had definitely never heard about black eyed children. I can’t remember exactly how old I was, but I must have been around 9 or 10. My mum went upstairs to get showered after work while my brother and I sat in front of the TV, flicking through the channels, arguing over what to watch. I heard a knock at the door but ignored it. My mum always told us not to answer the door, so I remained watching TV. Then there was another knock, this time louder. Why they were knocking instead of ringing the doorbell eluded me. A short time passed before they knocked again. Whoever it was, wasn’t going away, so I walked over to the stairs and shouted up.

‘Mum, there’s someone at the door.’

She shouted something back, but I couldn’t hear what she said, just a faint mumble over the sound of running water. I was about to go back to sit down when they knocked again. I was stood right next to the front door so whoever it was would have definitely heard me shout to my mum. Now they knew I was there, I felt like I had to open the door. I walked over and tried to look out the window at the top of the door but it was too high and I couldn’t see out. I remember at that point I got really scared but didn’t know why. I found my hand slowly reaching for the door handle even though I really didn’t want to open the door. Then a quiet voice from the other side said.

‘Please let me in?’

It sounded like a young child’s voice, and I immediately thought it was the girl who lived next door. I hadn’t even really spoken to her but had seen her around a lot. Thinking she needed help I begrudgingly slid across the lock and opened the door just enough to stick my head through.

The moment I looked out I could tell it wasn’t the girl from next door. It was a young boy, probably about the same age I was at the time. He had pale skin and scruffy blond hair. He was staring down at his feet and didn’t even lift his head when he spoke.

‘I need help. Please let me in?’ He said, in a monotone voice.

I didn’t recognise him from anywhere and something seemed strange. I knew I wasn’t even meant to open the door, let alone allow anyone inside.

‘What’s wrong? I’m not allowed to let people in,’ I replied, hoping he would just leave.

He didn’t. Instead he slowly lifted his head to look at me. That’s when I saw those big, black, soleless eyes. I will always remember the feeling I felt as he looked at me. An overwhelming feeling of dread and anxiety took hold and then he spoke again. This time in a slightly louder, deeper voice.

‘You have to let me in. You have to help me.’

Without even realising it, I was now stood holding the door wide open but the fear inside snapped me back into reality. I quickly slammed the door closed and locked it as fast as I could. I paused for a moment staring at the door, expecting to hear him speak again, asking to be let inside. There wasn’t a sound. The feeling of fear began to fade but I needed to know if he was still there. I moved through into the dining room and pulled back the curtains slightly to get a look outside. I couldn’t see anyone stood by the front door and assumed he had gone to try a different house, but then as I glanced across the street, I saw him again. He was standing at the end of our driveway, just out of the streetlights glow, looking right at me. It was dark, but I could still see the blackness where his eyes should have been.

I told my mum about it when she got out of the shower. She tried to explain it away as kids messing about and said it was my fault for opening the door. She stuck her head out to have a look around, but she said she never saw anyone. I guess he must have moved on, but his face would haunt me for a long time to come.

Part 2

The second time I saw the black-eyed boy was when I was 17. We had gone on a family trip during the Christmas holidays. It was a family tradition to spend Christmas and new year at my uncles cabin, up in the Scottish Highlands. It was a fun time for the whole family that everyone looked forward to. We would play games, watch films and go on walks through the woods surrounding the cabin. There was usually a lot of snow around at that time of year and the memory of us making snowmen and sledging down the disused track was a fond recollection for every member of the family. That year was especially cold and the snow was nearly two feet deep in some areas. Most of the family had donned their winter coats and gone out to play and explore, with the exception of my Gran who struggled in the deep snow and my mum who had stayed back with her, to keep her company. We were making snowmen as usual and had all gone off in different directions, trying to find the freshest snow to roll or the perfect sticks to make arms. We never went too far from the group and I remember as I was trudging through the deep snow digging for sticks, I had just looked over my shoulder and had seen my uncle helping my younger brother roll a ball of snow. I had a big smile on my face and was in high spirits, even though I was bitterly cold.

That’s when I looked up and saw him. Stood right in front of me, between two trees was the same boy I saw as a child. Years had passed and he hadn’t aged a day. My smile faded from my face as I stood upright. The boy stood looking down at the ground just as he had the first time I saw him. He was wearing a light blue shirt, lightweight brown trousers and no jacket. I was older now and tried to make sense of it. Was I just imagining it? Was I just seeing things? Then he took a step towards me and I noticed the footprints he left in the snow.

‘Can you help me? I lost my mum. Can I use your phone?’ Said the boy, in the same monotone voice I remembered from when I was young.

I looked back over my shoulder to see if my uncle was there. I couldn’t see him. I couldn’t see anyone. The same feeling of dread built in my stomach, slowly taking over my whole body.

‘Sorry. I don’t have a phone on me. Where’s your mum?’ I asked.

A nervous gulp slid down my throat. I did have my phone on me, but the same bad feeling told me not to let him use it.

‘I lost my mommy. Please can I use your phone? He asked again, taking another step towards me.

I was really freaking out at this point. This kid really wasn’t taking no for an answer. I didn’t know how it was even possible that this could be the same kid I saw when I was younger. I was starting to doubt myself and wonder if it really was just some lost kid looking for his mum but still couldn’t shake the feeling of mistrust.

‘I told you, I don’t have a phone,’ I repeated in a stern voice.

Then he looked at me, lifting his head to reveal those same haunting black eyes I had tried so hard to forget.

‘I need to use your phone,’ he said yet again, this time almost shouting.

That was all I could take and quickly turned to get the hell out of there, to then see my uncle stood right behind me. Startled I jumped back and fell to the floor.

‘A bit jumpy aren’t you?’ My uncle said, as he reached out to help me up.

I grabbed his hand to pull myself up, immediately looking around to see if the boy was still there, but he was gone. I would have thought I imagined it, but I could still see his footsteps in the snow. I explained what happened to my uncle and after he reported back to the rest of the family, everyone who was out there at the time, began a search of the surrounding area, looking for a lost little boy. Obviously, nobody could find anyone or anything, so we went back to the cabin where my uncle told my mum about the whole thing. This seemed to spark her memory of when we were young and she explained how I had claimed to see a small lost boy in the past and how when I was a very young child I would wave at people across the street when there was nobody there. Everyone made fun of me and joked about how I had made an imaginary friend, although when I had told my uncle about the boy, I skipped the part about his black eyes. He took it seriously enough to contact the local police department, but nobody had been reported missing and everyone started to think I had just seen one of my small cousins run past and imagined the rest.

That night while I was lying in bed, I heard a lot of noises coming from the trees outside. I got up and looked out the window. There he was again, looking right at me from the treeline. I never told anybody and went back to bed, but I got little sleep that night.

Part 3

Years have passed and I’m now in my late 20s. I haven’t seen or even thought about the black-eyed boy for ages. Not until last night. I had always put it down to my messed-up imagination as a child, but now I’m an adult, living in my own apartment and last night I saw him again. This time I don’t think it was me he came to see.

I was just sat down, playing on my phone, with the TV on in the background, when I got a really strange feeling. It just came across me from nowhere, like something was wrong, but I couldn’t place what it was. It was a feeling of dread and one that I had only felt twice before. Yes, the feeling I got when I saw the black-eyed boy. I put my phone down and looked around the empty room, almost expecting to see him stood in the corner, but he was nowhere to be seen. I rose to my feet and found myself slowly moving across the room towards the front door, when about halfway across the room I heard a knock. The knock was muffled and I immediately realised it wasn’t a knock at my door, but on the door of my next door neighbour. He was an elderly man who rarely left his apartment but had lots of family who would visit on a regular basis. I still couldn’t shake the anxiety that was taking hold of me and forced myself closer to the door, enabling me to look through the doors peep hole. I hadn’t made a sound as I pressed my eye to the small viewing lens and looked out into the hall. I already knew what I was going to see, and I was right. There he stood, outside Mr Cartwright’s door, waiting for him to answer. He looked exactly the same as every other time I’d seen him. Same age, same clothes and when his head snapped across to look at me, the same black eyes. I jumped back away from the door. I hadn’t made a sound, he couldn’t know I was there, could he? I quietly went back to the sofa and sat down staring at the door waiting for that unnerving knock at my door, but it never came.

I must have fallen asleep at some point, because the next thing I remember is waking up on the sofa early this morning. I tried to forget about it, like I had all the other times and move on with the rest of my day. I got myself washed up and ready for work. As I was readying to leave my apartment, I could hear a lot of commotion from down the hall. I stepped out to see what was going on and was immediately blocked by a medic coming out of Mr Cartwright’s apartment. This all seemed like too much of a coincidence. I asked the medic what was going on and if Mr Cartwright was ok. Just as he started to talk, another two medics came out of the apartment pushing a stretcher. On the stretcher was the recognisable shape of a body concealed by a white sheet draped over the top.

‘Sorry, but Mr Cartwright passed away last night. It looks like a heart attack but we will have to wait for the official cause of death to be determined to know for sure,’ the Medic replied solemnly, before grasping the end of the stretcher and helping to guide it towards the apartments lift.

I was left stunned and completely speechless. Could the little black-eyed boy really be responsible in some way? I decided to mention it to my friend John at work, who seemed oddly intrigued by each event as I relayed the whole story. Then he explained the whole urban legend of the black-eyed children. Telling me about other people’s encounters, most of which seemed eerily similar to mine. That is the first time I had ever heard about black eyed children and from what I know now, I’m so glad I never let the boy in to my house. So, a word of warning to anyone who sees the black-eyed children, don’t open the door and don’t let them inside.