August 24, 1954


The sound of weeping drove me outside.

I first heard it when I awoke this morning. A soft, subtle sound which seemed to come from somewhere close by.

I followed the cries, which at times were near me, and at others only distantly heard. The sobs were incessant though, regardless as to the nearness of the person weeping.

As the day progressed, the cries no longer moved away from me. They no longer wandered along the edges of my perception. Instead, they grew louder.

The sound was maddening for there was no way to help the person crying. I did not know if it was an adult or a child, whether male or female. All I knew was that they were in pain, and there was no way to help them.

This was the worst part, my own helplessness. My inability to soothe them, to comfort them. I heard heartbreak and longing, hunger and depression, all of these things heavy in the sobs.

Finally, I could take no more of it.

I went outside and sat down in the grass. I stared at the hospital, desperately hoping to see the crier in one of the windows.

But I saw nothing. Only heard it.

I remained outside for the entire day. The weeping ceased when the sunset, and I went back inside, my own tears blurring my vision at the thought of a suffering which could outlast death.

#horror #CrossMassachusetts #monsters #supernatural #skulls #death #fear #evil #horrorobsessed #scary #ghosts #DuncanBlood #asylum #insane #ghoststories

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Nicholas Efstathiou

Husband, father, and writer.

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