| Some people claim that this phenomenon is an urban legend. But it doesnt quite fit the definition of an urban legend. The stories of these creepy black eyed kids comes from all over the US, not just one place. The stories are very few in number and have just surfaced in the last ten years. The first story I remembering hearing about these creepy 'kids' was from a man named Brian Bethel, a reporter for the Abilene Reporter, who published his story of an encounter with three boys (see below). |
"I don't really know what I'd call this story if I was submitting it for publication in Fate or
something of its ilk. "Brian vs. the Evil, Black-eyed, Possibly Vampiric or Demonic
But At Least Not Bloody Normal Kids" doesn't have much of a ring to it. (Shrug.) :)
But that's at least an accurate title.
As so many things do, it all started out innocently.
My Internet Service Provider used to have offices in a shopping center before they
moved to their (comparatively) lush accommodations elsewhere. There was a drop box
at that original location. The monthly bill was due, and thus, there but for the Grace of
the Net I went.
It was about 9:30 p.m. when I left. From my relatively isolated apartments, it's about
10-15 minutes or so to downtown (Abilene has a population of about 110,000).
Right next to Camalott Communications' old location is a $1.50 movie theater. At the
time, the place was featuring that masterwork of modern film, Mortal Kombat. I drove by
the theater on the way into the center proper and pulled into an empty parking space.
Using the glow of the marquee to write out my check, I was startled to hear a knock on
the driver's-side window of my car.
I looked over and saw two children staring at me from street. I need to describe them,
with the one feature (you can guess what it was) that I didn't realize until about half-way
through the conversation cleverly omitted.
Both appeared to be in that semi-mystical stage of life children get into where you can't
exactly tell their age. Both were boys, and my initial impression is that they were
somewhere between 10-14.
Boy No. 1 was the spokesman. Boy No. 2 didn't speak during the entire conversation --
at least not in words.
Boy No. 1 was slightly taller than his companion, wearing a pull-over, hooded shirt with
a sort of gray checked pattern and jeans. I couldn't see his shoes. His skin was
olive-colored and had curly, medium-length brown hair. He exuded an air of quiet
confidence.
Boy No. 2 had pale skin with a trace of freckles. His primary characteristic seemed to
be looking around nervously. He was dressed in a similar manner to his companion,
but his pull-over was a light green color. His hair was a sort of pale orange.
They didn't appear to be related, at least directly.
"Oh, great," I thought. "They're gonna hit me up for money." And then the air changed.
I've explained this before, but for the benefit of any new lurkers out there, right before I
experience something strange, there's a change in perception that comes about which
I describe in the above manner. It's basically enough time to know it's too late. ;)
So, there I was, filling out a check in my car (which was still running) and in a sudden
panic over the appearance of two little boys. I was confused, but an overwhelming
sense of fear and unearthliness rushed in nonetheless.
The spokesman smiled, and the sight for some inexplicable reason chilled my blood. I
could feel fight-or-flight responses kicking in. Something, I knew instinctually, was not
right, but I didn't know what it could possibly be.
I rolled down the window very, very slightly and asked "Yes?"
The spokesman smiled again, broader this time. His teeth were very, very white.
"Hey, mister, what's up? We have a problem," he said. His voice was that of a young
man, but his diction, quiet calm and ... something I still couldn't put my finger on ... made
my desire to flee even greater. "You see, my friend and I want to see the films, but we
forgot our money," he continued. "We need to go to our house to get it. Want to help us
out?"
Okay. Journalists are required to talk to lots of people, and that includes children. I've
seen and spoken to lots of them. Here's how that usually goes:
"Uh ... M ... M ... Mister? Can I see that camera? I ... I won't break it or anything. I
promise. My dad has a camera, and he lets me hold it sometimes, I guess, and I took a
picture of my dog -- it wasn's very good, 'cause I got my finger in the way and ..."
Add in some feet shuffling and/or body swaying and you've got a typical kid talking to a
stranger.
In short, they're usually apologetic. People generally teach children that when they talk
to adults, they're usually bothering them for one reason or another and they should at
least be polite.
This kid was in no way fitting the mold. His command of language was incredible and
he showed no signs of fear. He spoke as if my help was a foregone conclusion. When
he grinned, it was as if he was trying to say, "I know something ... and you're NOT
gonna like it. But the only way you're going to find out what it is will be to do what I say
..."
"Uh, well ..." was the best reply I could offer.
Now here's where it starts to get strange.
The quiet companion looked at the spokesman with a mixture of confusion and guilt on
his face. He seemed in some ways shocked, not with his friend's brusque manner but
that I didn't just immediately open the door.
He eyed me nervously.
The spokesman seemed a bit perturbed, too. I still was registering something wrong
with both.
"C'mon, mister," the spokesman said again, smooth as silk. Car salesmen could learn
something from this kid. "Now, we just want to go to our house. And we're just two little
boys."
That really scared me. Something in the tone and diction again sent off alarm bells. My
mind was frantically trying to process what it was perceiving about the two figures that
was "wrong."
"Eh. Um ...." was all I could manage. I felt myself digging my fingernails into the steering
wheel.
"What movie were you going to see?" I asked finally.
"Mortal Kombat, of course," the spokesman said. The silent one nodded in affirmation,
standing a few paces behind.
"Oh," I said. I stole a quick glance at the marquee and at the clock in my car. Mortal
Kombat had been playing for an hour, the last showing of the evening.
The silent one looked increasingly nervous. I think he saw my glances and suspected
that I might be detecting something was not above-board.
"C'mon, mister. Let us in. We can't get in your car until you do, you know," the
spokesman said soothingly. "Just let us in, and we'll be gone before you know it. We'll
go to our mother's house."
We locked eyes.
To my horror, I realized my hand had strayed toward the door lock (which was
engaged) and was in the process of opening it. I pulled it away, probably a bit too
violently. But it did force me to look away from the children.
I turned back. "Er ... Um ...," I offered weakly and then my mind snapped into sharp
focus.
For the first time, I noticed their eyes.
They were coal black. No pupil. No iris. Just two staring orbs reflecting the red and
white light of the marquee.
At that point, I know my expression betrayed me. The silent one had a look of horror on
his face in a combination that seemed to indicate: A) The impossible had just
happened and B) "We've been found out!"
The spokesman, on the other hand, wore a mask of anger. His eyes glittered brightly in
the half-light.
"Cmon, mister," he said. "We won't hurt you. You have to LET US IN. We don't have a
gun ..."
That last statement scared the living hell out of me, because at that point by his tone he
was plainly saying, "We don't NEED a gun."
He noticed my hand shooting down toward the gear shift. The spokesman's final words
contained an anger that was complete and whole, and yet contained in some respects
a tone of panic:
"WE CAN'T COME IN UNLESS YOU TELL US IT'S OKAY. LET ... US .... IN!"
I ripped the car into reverse (thank goodness no one was coming up behind me) and
tore out of the parking lot. I noticed the boys in my peripheral vision, and I stole a quick
glance back.
They were gone. The sidewalk by the theater was deserted."
something of its ilk. "Brian vs. the Evil, Black-eyed, Possibly Vampiric or Demonic
But At Least Not Bloody Normal Kids" doesn't have much of a ring to it. (Shrug.) :)
But that's at least an accurate title.
As so many things do, it all started out innocently.
My Internet Service Provider used to have offices in a shopping center before they
moved to their (comparatively) lush accommodations elsewhere. There was a drop box
at that original location. The monthly bill was due, and thus, there but for the Grace of
the Net I went.
It was about 9:30 p.m. when I left. From my relatively isolated apartments, it's about
10-15 minutes or so to downtown (Abilene has a population of about 110,000).
Right next to Camalott Communications' old location is a $1.50 movie theater. At the
time, the place was featuring that masterwork of modern film, Mortal Kombat. I drove by
the theater on the way into the center proper and pulled into an empty parking space.
Using the glow of the marquee to write out my check, I was startled to hear a knock on
the driver's-side window of my car.
I looked over and saw two children staring at me from street. I need to describe them,
with the one feature (you can guess what it was) that I didn't realize until about half-way
through the conversation cleverly omitted.
Both appeared to be in that semi-mystical stage of life children get into where you can't
exactly tell their age. Both were boys, and my initial impression is that they were
somewhere between 10-14.
Boy No. 1 was the spokesman. Boy No. 2 didn't speak during the entire conversation --
at least not in words.
Boy No. 1 was slightly taller than his companion, wearing a pull-over, hooded shirt with
a sort of gray checked pattern and jeans. I couldn't see his shoes. His skin was
olive-colored and had curly, medium-length brown hair. He exuded an air of quiet
confidence.
Boy No. 2 had pale skin with a trace of freckles. His primary characteristic seemed to
be looking around nervously. He was dressed in a similar manner to his companion,
but his pull-over was a light green color. His hair was a sort of pale orange.
They didn't appear to be related, at least directly.
"Oh, great," I thought. "They're gonna hit me up for money." And then the air changed.
I've explained this before, but for the benefit of any new lurkers out there, right before I
experience something strange, there's a change in perception that comes about which
I describe in the above manner. It's basically enough time to know it's too late. ;)
So, there I was, filling out a check in my car (which was still running) and in a sudden
panic over the appearance of two little boys. I was confused, but an overwhelming
sense of fear and unearthliness rushed in nonetheless.
The spokesman smiled, and the sight for some inexplicable reason chilled my blood. I
could feel fight-or-flight responses kicking in. Something, I knew instinctually, was not
right, but I didn't know what it could possibly be.
I rolled down the window very, very slightly and asked "Yes?"
The spokesman smiled again, broader this time. His teeth were very, very white.
"Hey, mister, what's up? We have a problem," he said. His voice was that of a young
man, but his diction, quiet calm and ... something I still couldn't put my finger on ... made
my desire to flee even greater. "You see, my friend and I want to see the films, but we
forgot our money," he continued. "We need to go to our house to get it. Want to help us
out?"
Okay. Journalists are required to talk to lots of people, and that includes children. I've
seen and spoken to lots of them. Here's how that usually goes:
"Uh ... M ... M ... Mister? Can I see that camera? I ... I won't break it or anything. I
promise. My dad has a camera, and he lets me hold it sometimes, I guess, and I took a
picture of my dog -- it wasn's very good, 'cause I got my finger in the way and ..."
Add in some feet shuffling and/or body swaying and you've got a typical kid talking to a
stranger.
In short, they're usually apologetic. People generally teach children that when they talk
to adults, they're usually bothering them for one reason or another and they should at
least be polite.
This kid was in no way fitting the mold. His command of language was incredible and
he showed no signs of fear. He spoke as if my help was a foregone conclusion. When
he grinned, it was as if he was trying to say, "I know something ... and you're NOT
gonna like it. But the only way you're going to find out what it is will be to do what I say
..."
"Uh, well ..." was the best reply I could offer.
Now here's where it starts to get strange.
The quiet companion looked at the spokesman with a mixture of confusion and guilt on
his face. He seemed in some ways shocked, not with his friend's brusque manner but
that I didn't just immediately open the door.
He eyed me nervously.
The spokesman seemed a bit perturbed, too. I still was registering something wrong
with both.
"C'mon, mister," the spokesman said again, smooth as silk. Car salesmen could learn
something from this kid. "Now, we just want to go to our house. And we're just two little
boys."
That really scared me. Something in the tone and diction again sent off alarm bells. My
mind was frantically trying to process what it was perceiving about the two figures that
was "wrong."
"Eh. Um ...." was all I could manage. I felt myself digging my fingernails into the steering
wheel.
"What movie were you going to see?" I asked finally.
"Mortal Kombat, of course," the spokesman said. The silent one nodded in affirmation,
standing a few paces behind.
"Oh," I said. I stole a quick glance at the marquee and at the clock in my car. Mortal
Kombat had been playing for an hour, the last showing of the evening.
The silent one looked increasingly nervous. I think he saw my glances and suspected
that I might be detecting something was not above-board.
"C'mon, mister. Let us in. We can't get in your car until you do, you know," the
spokesman said soothingly. "Just let us in, and we'll be gone before you know it. We'll
go to our mother's house."
We locked eyes.
To my horror, I realized my hand had strayed toward the door lock (which was
engaged) and was in the process of opening it. I pulled it away, probably a bit too
violently. But it did force me to look away from the children.
I turned back. "Er ... Um ...," I offered weakly and then my mind snapped into sharp
focus.
For the first time, I noticed their eyes.
They were coal black. No pupil. No iris. Just two staring orbs reflecting the red and
white light of the marquee.
At that point, I know my expression betrayed me. The silent one had a look of horror on
his face in a combination that seemed to indicate: A) The impossible had just
happened and B) "We've been found out!"
The spokesman, on the other hand, wore a mask of anger. His eyes glittered brightly in
the half-light.
"Cmon, mister," he said. "We won't hurt you. You have to LET US IN. We don't have a
gun ..."
That last statement scared the living hell out of me, because at that point by his tone he
was plainly saying, "We don't NEED a gun."
He noticed my hand shooting down toward the gear shift. The spokesman's final words
contained an anger that was complete and whole, and yet contained in some respects
a tone of panic:
"WE CAN'T COME IN UNLESS YOU TELL US IT'S OKAY. LET ... US .... IN!"
I ripped the car into reverse (thank goodness no one was coming up behind me) and
tore out of the parking lot. I noticed the boys in my peripheral vision, and I stole a quick
glance back.
They were gone. The sidewalk by the theater was deserted."
Date: Fri, 16 Jan 1998
19:12:25 -0800 (PST)
From: "Brian Bethel"
(brianbet@camalott.com)
To: ghost-discuss@lido.com
Subject: Those Darned
Black-Eyed Kids
19:12:25 -0800 (PST)
From: "Brian Bethel"
(brianbet@camalott.com)
To: ghost-discuss@lido.com
Subject: Those Darned
Black-Eyed Kids
| It's one of the creepiest stories I've ever read, not because Mr. Bethel is such an amazing story-teller (which he may be) but because of the nature of these kids. They come to you asking for help, usually in three's but also in pairs, one is a little older than the other two and seems to be the 'leader" who does the bulk of the speaking. Their problems are similar with each case...they want you to either invite them into your car or into your house. But they won’t force their way in, they want you to invite them. It has to be with your permission. People who have supposedly witnessed these 'visits' claim to have an overwhelming feeling of dread wash over and grip them as they stare into the kids' eyes (which are completely black, no white whatsoever). |
| So, who are these kids? Some claim the black eyes would indicate that they are demons, which would make sense as demons are supposed to have some trait about them that distinguishes them from humans, often it is the eyes. Demons have never walked the earth as humans, therefore they cannot represent themselves as wholely human. Demons also have to have permission, whether direct or indirect, realized or given intentionally, in order to invade a person's life and it is the same for these 'evil kids.' If you or someone you know has had an encounter with these kids, please contact your local paranormal group to report it. |
| They claim to feel pure evil, like they are going to die just by looking into their eyes, and there is some kind of hold these kids have on their victims, almost willing them with their eyes to open the door and let them in. Those who have been able to tell the tale are the ones who were able to break the almost trance-like state they are in to drive away from them or slam the door in their faces...to refuse entry to them and to get away from them. There are a few stories told about people who actually let these kids into their cars and end up getting in a fatal accident, or letting them into their house or apartment and dying of a heart attack or some freak accident. |
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