I've seen a lot of things, like a whole town possessed

You can read my opening entry here.

I had an amazing experience this last weekend! It was incredible, magical! I started writing it up immediately, but then I realized it was not at all frightening, and would not really fit in here on r/nosleep. I decided I should make that entry extra-long, attaching a second, more frightening tale to the end of my exhilarating experience. And, while I’m doing that I should post a different scary tale. So, I’m writing this up first, a story that is incredibly common here on reddit, and I can even tell you my theories why. Here we go…

When you peruse this subreddit, you’ll find dozens of stories about creatures that smile. Why is that? Is it because it makes good scary story writing? Is it because a disproportionate number of otherworldly creatures smile at us? Both? Yes.

I believe that many otherworldly creatures are little more than animals, displaced into our universe, our dimension, and then they simply act on their animalistic instincts. But, others are reasonably, or even extremely, intelligent. They have learned that humans smile to try and put each other at ease. So, they smile. Perhaps they are aware of how incredibly unsettling they are as they smile, but the paralyzing fear is far more useful than the panicked, sprinting terror caused by their usual grimace. So, they smile.

A lot of the creatures I have met smiled. The snatcher from last time is a good example. In fact, the very next monster I ran into smiled, but I’m going to jump forward in time to a more frightening experience. I feel that when I turned fourteen was truly my loss of innocence. It was the point where I was old enough to realize that these things were not going away, they would not leave me alone. I was also young enough to think I could be the hero of my own story. I thought I could fight. I was dreadfully wrong.

My father had moved us again. I had long since been homeschooled, I wasn’t bothered. We moved to a small town I can no longer remember the name of, somewhere in the North-West of Missouri. Dad said this place had a lot of news reports about missing persons and violent murders over the last decade or so. He hoped he could get a new lead, so we had been there a week or so.

The town was clean, small and quiet. Everyone was friendly, they’d give you a nod and a smile as you passed, occasionally giving a pleasant hello. It was so consistent that the streets seemed to hum with the gentle murmurs and head nods. I’d come from a city before this where we had stayed for quite a while, and this was uncomfortable immediately. Common courtesy did not dictate that you must greet every person you pass, that’s more tedious than it is polite. And, also strange, the streets were incredibly busy. This small of a town must have had every citizen in the streets to acquire this level of activity. I started searching about, because I started to think it must have been some kind of festival. It was a Saturday.

I found my way to Main Street on some friendly directions towards a local park. I turned up the street from a large, red brick building, a large sign out front proclaiming it to be City Hall. As I passed, already in the habit of giving a friendly nod to all those I passed, I noticed a man. The first man I had seen that was not actively engaged in walking, nodding, and smiling. He was sitting on the steps of City Hall, head hung in his hands. No one who passed him gave him a friendly greeting, or even looked at him. I moved closer. His clothes were dirty and wrinkled, though they appeared to have been nicer clothes. I felt… compelled to approach him. I was fully in the youthful phase that made feel as though I could be a hero, like Clint Eastwood, or Steve McQueen. So I walked up to the man with head in his hands, neglected by the townsfolk.

“Hey, can I help you?” When I spoke, the man jumped. When he lifted his head I could see the two lines of tears tracing through his scraggly beard. He looked about frantically before his eyes settled on me. He looked confused. He started to reach out towards me, but I pulled back, uncomfortable. He also recoiled his hand.

“Sorry, it’s just… you can see me?” His eyes were hopeful, almost pleading. I was about to question him, call him out for being a weirdo, when someone behind me spoke up.

“What’cha doin’ there boy?” An older gentleman in a nice gray suit was watching me, a light smile on his lips. A few other passing people had also stopped, smiling comfortingly.

“I was just talking to this man.” I said, pointing a thumb over my shoulder. I turned to look at the man, but he was gone. The steps on which he was sitting were empty. I glanced around, but those around were only smiling, cleanly dressed townspeople. The dirty man had disappeared.

“You should go home, son. No reason for someone your age to be wandering the streets today.” And, so I left. I walked back the way I had come. I looked back once, and the old man in the suit was at the top of the stairs. As I watched he turned and walked into the Town Hall building.

I went straight home from there, hurrying and ignoring the friendly greetings of the townspeople that were really starting to grate on me. We were staying in a tiny house on the far edge of town. I’m certain that we even bought it or paid rent, I think Dad just picked an empty house and moved us in. He was in the kitchen, pouring over newspapers when I walked in. I tried to tell Dad how weird everyone here was, but he only nodded and agreed, reminding me that’s why we were here. It wasn’t helpful, I wanted to talk about it and discuss it, not just get simple confirmation. I retreated to the living room, flopping onto the dirty couch that was there when we got there. Lying face down, smelling the slight hints of mold and dust, various things that could have been spilled on it over the years, I started to get nauseous and very strongly regretted the decision. I remember this scent distinctly. Not because it made me sick, it honestly didn’t bother me too much. I remember it because it was not the smell of the couch.

I turned my head to get my nose out of the fabric, face turned to look out across the room. Across the room, sitting in a recliner as if he’d always been there, was the dirty man from Town Hall. His eyes were closed, the tears still streaming down his face, head tilted back as if he were reflecting.

I did not panic. I tried not to panic. In my experience, it never helped. You get startled and start making sudden movements, then whatever it is attacks because of the motion, when you could have just sat there a moment and thought through your options before the inevitable leap.

The man turned to look at me, eyes listing open lazily.

“Shit, you really can see me. That’s a relief.” He moved back to his eyes closed, relaxed stance. I sat up slowly, trying to not startle him.

“Yes, I can see you, and what are you doing here?” The man huffed a sigh and turned his chair to face me.

“I followed you in, simple as that. Why can you see me?” He was leaning forward now, elbows on knees.

“Because you’re sitting right in front of me. Why is that weird?”

“Because I’m dead.” That was… news. “Why aren’t you panicking?”

“You’re the fourth dead man I’ve met, and the least threatening by far.” I stood up and walked towards him, reaching to his shoulder. Sure enough, my hand phased through the fabric of his shirt and I could see my fingers poking out the other side. The man chuckled a little.

“Gotta admit, this is kinda-” He stopped abruptly, head whipping towards the front door. He looked stern for a moment, then snarled and cursed. “You shouldn’t answer that.” Then he dissolved. Dissipated into nothing in front of me. I looked around for a moment, then called out.

“Dad! We have guests.” Then, just as I heard his chair squeaking against the linoleum there was a knock at the door.

We answered together, pulling open the door to the old man in the suit from earlier, and a couple other random people behind him, all grinning. Behind them, in the street, I could see a small crowd of more, smiling townspeople. They were hard to see, as the sun had just dipped below the horizon, leaving pastel shades of orange and red fading to purple of night. Those in the street were cast in shadow, but their shining teeth were perfectly visible. It was unsettling.

When you’ve experienced the things I have you learn to trust that gut instinct to run when danger is close. When we opened that door the wave of foreboding crashed down on me and I took an involuntary step back from the grinning people. My dad gripped my shoulder, holding me in place. I looked up at him and could see the hard, determined set of his jaw.

“How can I help you this evening?” My dad opened, his voice as tight as the vice-like grip on my shoulder. The man was not bothered. He stayed outside, smiling.

“Well, you’re new in town! ‘Round here we’ve got a tradition for welcoming all our new towns members. We were hoping you would come down with us to City Hall and join us as the guests of honor.” He stepped to the side of our doorframe, as did those behind him, gesturing for us to walk outside with them.

I wanted to step back again, to take many steps back then turn and run. Dad held me in place. I couldn’t run. He nodded, all muscles still taught.

“All right, sure, sounds like fun.” He said as calmly as he could. “Please, just give my son and I a minute to change into nicer clothes. I definitely need to get my coat. Stay right there, we’ll be right back.” He shut the door and pulled me back into the house, back into the single bedroom. He started moving quickly, frantically. He threw me one of my favorite pairs of jeans, still unwashed from the last time I’d worn them.

“Listen, Isaac, we both know that this isn’t right, so just be prepared to do what we have to. Change clothes. Get your boots on, with the steel toes. Long sleeves. Just… Be ready.” He was pulling on pants underneath his long sleeve shirt. Just as he was reaching for his heavy leather jacket, the only thing hung up among our mostly unpacked clothes, there was a tap at the window. There was a grinning face, hand waving.

“Hurry! Hurry!” They called. Dad walked over, pants still undone, and pulled the blinds. The shadow remained, illuminated by some light down the street. The hand continued to wave.

“Don’t worry, I’ve prepared for at least this much.” My dad was whispering now. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I will protect you. I we get separated, come back here. Keep the doors locked.” And with that, we were ready. We walked back out, leaving the shadow at the window, still waving.

As we opened the front door, the small crowd stepped back and made a corridor for us again. The old man had the same arm extended, directing us forward. As we walked through the old man’s nose twitched, almost displacing his consistent grin.

“That’s a rather fragrant cologne, you’ve got there.” The words seemed almost quietly angry. My father only nodded.

“I never leave the house without it.” The old man wrinkled his nose again, turning his smile into a terrible grimace for just a moment.

We were lead through the streets. As we passed homes and buildings, the crowd around us grew. They came running out to walk alongside. None of them took their eyes off of us. As they walked they would have their heads trained on us, teeth shining, eyes wide open. Those in front of us were the worst, their heads turned just a little too far to keep both eyes in our direction.

When we reached City Hall, those in front of us parted to make a walkway into the building. The older man walked us inside. The building was… surprisingly normal. Brightly lit, the lobby was a great circle with an elaborate mosaic set in the floor, the walls were high, and two curving staircases went back and up into the building. It was nice, actually, pleasant. Then the townspeople filed in and filled out the perimeter of the circle. The hallways also filled from the back, as if the people were pressing in from all directions.

We were shoved into the center of the floor. The old man, still grinning, raised his arms out and above his head.

“Everyone! A round of applause for our guests of honor!” The crowd of smiling people started clapping and cheering. The sound was almost deafening, reverberating off the walls, echoing inside my skull. I covered my ears, but I refused to take my eyes off the gathered crowd. My father stood stoically, only flinching slightly when the uproar started. I looked around, looking for an exit, when I spotted the ghostly apparition that had followed me home. He was standing in the second line of the crowd, not moving, looking starkly sallow beside his hooting neighbors. He shook his head slightly when we made eye contact. Then, he spoke, surprisingly clear, perfectly heard among the cacophony.

“You’ll wish you were dead.”

Then, the lights went out. The cheering continued, but it was quickly getting distorted. The clapping was quickly turning into this sharp, incessant clicking, and the cheers turned to screams, then they turned to roaring, cackling laughter.

Slowly, candles began igniting around the perimeter of the circle, one at a time at first too dim to make anything visible. When the circle was a quarter completed, I could make out faces. Their joyous grins hadn’t changed, but the rest of their faces were twisted around into malicious glee. But, I didn’t look at their faces for long. I was more captivated by the shadows beginning to dance up the walls behind them. They were human shaped shadows, but the faces, eyes and mouth, at least, were not shadows, like the shadow had been cutout there. They glowed with the light of the dancing fires. The light was effectively shining straight through the skulls of the gathered crowd.

This was when my father started shouting. I couldn’t understand the words then, as at first they were drowned out by the laughter, then by shrieking. The candles were not yet half lit, but the crowd started clutching their own heads, covering their ears, curling up and screeching. Having talked to him later, I know what he was saying, now. I’ve burned the words into my memory, so that I may use them to defend myself if I ever needed.

“O! Holy Mary, mother mild,

Look down on me, a little child,

And when I sleep put near my bed

The good Saint Joseph at my head,

My guardian angel at my right

To keep me good through all the night;

Saint Brigid give me blessings sweet;

Saint Patrick watch beside my feet.

Be good to me O! mother mild,

Because I am a little child.”

This was sung in Hebrew. It was, in effect, a summoning of one of the original Angels of God. I learned a lot later, about this and how it works, but you only need to know right now that it disrupted the ritual that was being set around us.

My father shouted at me to run, then, as he pulled a gun from under his arm. He pointed it at the old man and fired, placing a bullet squarely between his eyes.

At first, the old man’s head simply rocked back, still grinning, then it lolled back forward to stare at us. The pupils dissolved into white and then the perpetual smile opened into a silent shriek, the only one of the crowd I’m certain was making no noise I could hear. I could see his bullet wound widening, opening, and splitting the skull. A set of clawed fingers grasped the edge of the growing hole.

Dad shouted for me to run again, then he continued shooting, reloading and shooting, all the while repeating his hymn without cessation. I stepped away, turned to run and was reminded of the encircled crowd, still screaming and holding their heads. There was no exit.

“This way, kid.” I heard the ghostly sad man’s voice, once again too clearly. I whipped around and there he was, at the edge of the crowd. He started walking backwards and the wailing townsfolk seemed to be shoved aside. I didn’t have much time to think so I ran for him.

I followed him as he somehow parted the crowd. Everyone in the building filled the halls to capacity, shrieking and wailing. The seemed to get shoved aside, being pressed back, plastered against an unyielding, invisible wall. My sad ghostly guardian stoically marched through, leading me to a side door as gunshots continued to ring out behind me. We got outside, and the noise continued.

The streets outside were empty, the night was calm, and, behind me, I could see deep inside the building, down the hallway we traversed. Back the way we had come was a red-orange glow. Whether it was the candles, becoming more and more lit, or a true fire I couldn’t tell. I looked to the ghost and he heaved a sigh, kind of smiling slightly. A real smile.

“Head home, kid. Wait for your old man.” He looked at me and started to fade. “Good luck. With all this.” And then he was gone. So I ran back to the house. I arrived, having met absolutely nothing on the way. I first ran around the house locking everything that had a lock. I also spread salt across every entrée way. You could never be too careful. I then started packing. I knew we would be leaving as soon as dad got back.

There was a slam on the window. The curtains were still drawn. The shadow was still there. The hand was no longer waving. It was still, fingers splayed, probably pressed against the glass. Everything was quiet. I didn’t move, trying to ignore the pounding blood in my ears. Then, a low whining started, like a dog whimpering, but much slower. The whine slowly grew in volume and intensity. As it got deeper and louder, slowly creeping into a violent wale, the shadow was growing, shifting. The head was growing, expanding. When it got big enough to reach the top of the window, it stopped growing, and the loud, deep roaring was angry and deafening.

Suddenly it was quiet. The head did not move. But, another shadow reached out from the shadow of the head. A long, thin claw reached out from the head, slowly growing as it approached the window. Finally, it gently settled on the glass accompanied by light clicking of nails on glass. It stayed there. Another claw spawned from the other side of the great shadowy blob. It was reaching out and growing, the same as the other. With a shriek, and a slam, the shadow disappeared. It was quiet for a time, then gunshots.

A couple minutes of silence, then jiggling locks, and dad was there. We left shortly after.

FYI: Dad believed the town had been overtaken by succubi, staying within the still living bodies of the townspeople, feeding of the emotions of continually tormented psyche.

He had no answers for my ghostly guardian.

Please, do ask me any questions you have, and I will give as many answers as I can.

Thanks.

You can read the next one here.

EDITS: Just figuring out formatting.