u/DeerInTheWoods100

I found my missing poster. Missing poster. I was missing. I should know that, using logic to put the pieces together. But somehow, it never registered. I had even completely forgotten about what happened all those years ago, a small hiccup in my life. My mom never forgot, though.

She kept them. This whole time.

It's been 15 years since these events, I'm living my own life now, and my grandpa has finally been convicted. Kidnapping, mass murder, torture, abuse of a corpse, pedophilia, anything you can think of, he's been convicted of. 300 years, they charged him with.

My sweet, sweet, kind grandpa. Murder. Torture. Pedophilia. I can't even say the word aloud, it tastes like blood and vomit in my mouth.

I had been barely involved in any of it. I was interviewed by a woman who smelled like disinfect wipes and played with play dough. She asked me a lot of horrible questions and sent me home with a scratchy blanket that had a picture of a dog on it. I was confused for a moment, and then I was gone. Everything was gone. I was finally ok.

Then it all came back. Thats why im telling you this story. I found my missing posters in the attic of my old house. My childhood home. The one I had walked out of to a devil disguised as a white haired man with kind eyes.

I was so young. Too young to understand the vast web I had walked into. It wrapped around me and tried to hold me close, but I was saved.

There were so many of them. Too many of them. The kids. Toddlers. Infants. The blood on the wall. The skull. It was so unfair. I was so angry and yet the sadness of the tragedies overshadowed it. It disgusts me but I can only think of that poor little kid, sobbing alone in a closet, not knowing if theyd ever walk out of it, and how many others had been in my place.

I was the only one who survived.

I had survived. Stupidity saved me. It's all so ridiculous now but every night I see it. Those eyes. The closet. The skull. Who had it belonged to? My brain tried to answer that through horrible disfigurations of children I used to know, my dreams were haunted with them. They followed me everywhere i went.

Mary. Tom. Richard. Sophia.

They followed me when I walked to the corner store, they followed me home and into my dreams. Crying. Begging. Bleeding from places I cant even see. It's so unfair. Its so unfair. Why me? Why was I the one who survived? Because he was my grandpa? Did his twisted, disgusting mind even have room for something like love?

I don't think so.

Mary. She was only four months old. I gagged and cried when my mom told me.

300 years isn't long enough for a monster like him. 5,000 years wouldn't be enough. Death wouldn't be enough. I had to hold out hope that somewhere, there was a dark, firey place that would stab him with fire pokers for eternity.

Even thats not enough for me.

Nothing ever will be.

(This may be a horror story, but for many children in this world, its a reality. To all children who have been victims of monsters like these, and children who have survived, I want to tell you, it is never your fault. Even if you followed them. Even if you thought it was ok. Even if you couldn't run away. Even if they were the same age as you. Even if you thought they loved you. It is not, and never will be, your fault in any way. Thats what I wish someone had told me, so thats why im telling you. Bless you all.)

[Character design and photobash made by wetsock_arts on Instagram. Zero ai was used in the making of this story and art.]

"Grandpa!" I cheered, running up to him and jumping so he'd pick me up. It had only been a few months since I last saw him, but felt like years. My mom stared on with a blank expression on her face, like she was trying to hide something.

"Grandpa! It's my birthday!"

"Is it?" He said in that tone you use to talk to little kids. High pitched and questioning.

"Yeah, me and mom are getting a cake! I wanna get chocolate but mom says she doesn't like chocolate."

I kept rambling on and he kept listening, all the while my mom hadn't said a word. Eventually, she dragged me away to get the cake and we got home. The next thing I remember is texting my grandpa.

[grandpa i miss you]

[I miss you too, Sweetheart. Come visit me.]

[i cant, mom says im not allowed]

[I'll come get you.]

[Don't tell your mom.]

Stupid little me thought that was a great idea. I'd finally get to see him again, and for longer than ten minutes! I was overjoyed. He didn't even need to tell me not to let my mom know, I wasn't gonna tell her anyway. We kept texting back and forth the whole week, eventually I put my phone on mute so my mom wouldn't notice something was up.

We had a plan. We'd wait until she was at work, and grandpa would drive up to about a block away, I'd walk over and he'd take me to his house. He formulated the plan, so I didn't think much about it. It seemed like it would work. I couldn't sleep the night before because I was so excited. It felt like Oceans Eleven or some other kind of heist movie. I just kept staring at my alarm clock, waiting. The morning of, I faked sleep until my mom went to work, then grabbed my bag under my bed. Grandpa told me to bring a lot of clothes. I didn't know what "a lot" was, so I just packed a couple shirts and pants, (he said he'd take care of the rest).

I waited by the window and watched for his car to drive by. The sun was just barely rising above the skyline and the air felt chilly and filled with energy. As I got up to walk out the door, a kind of adult minded dread washed over me. What was my mom going to do? She wouldn't know where I was. I decided it didn't matter and my grandpa would probably call her and let her know where I was. It made sense. We had to tell her after or she would stop the whole thing from happening. I just assumed my grandpa knew what he was doing. Adults always knew.

I walked down the sidewalk, looking around me like my mom was gonna jump out of the bushes or something. I saw the smoke blowing out the cars tailpipe from behind a tree and peeked around.

"Kiddo! Jump in!"

I grinned and hopped in the passenger seat. My mom never let me in the passenger seat. Everything just felt so exciting. After driving for about an hour down seemingly random roads, we pulled up on a dilapidated apartment building. It looked like a haunted house. He must have noticed my demenor because he put his hand on my shoulder and reassured me it was just a normal building. Sometimes they just look like that, he said. People don't take care of them and they fall apart, but the insides are still good. Like a person, he said. I nodded and we went inside.

When he opened the door, I was hit with a violent smell. Nothing I had ever smelled before. It was sickly sweet and vomit inducing. The smell filled my head and I threw up on the carpet. For a moment, I panicked, thinking he'd yell at me, but he just told me it was ok and went to get some cleaning supplies. I didn't ask about the smell, it was rude enough that I threw up in his house, I didn't have to be more awful. My grandpa nicely invited me to his house and I desecrated it.

I sat still on the couch while I watched him scoop it up into paper towels and pour bleach over the stain. I almost threw up again. We talked and he complained about the tree again and his landlord. He didn't seem much like himself anymore. He was more cynical and offputting. I couldn't put it into words then and I can barely do it now, but I knew something was wrong.

We sat in silence for a good while. Maybe hours, I couldn't tell you. He didn't seem to have clocks and I'm not sure I would've remembered anyway. I watched the sun set lightly over the horizon and grandpa got up to make dinner. I pulled my phone from my pocket and saw:

[Missed Phone call(s) 22]

[Mom]

[30 texts]

I put my phone back in my pocket.

"Something wrong, darling?" My grandpa called from the kitchen.

"Um, just mom. Did you call her yet?"

"I will, just give me some time. I'm tired."

I just nodded and went back to staring at the wall in front of me. This was supposed to be fun. Why weren't we doing anything fun? The adrenaline from earlier wore off and I could feel my eyes droop. I closed them and let darkness overtake me. When I woke up, it was pitch black outside. How long did I sleep for? I looked at my phone again. 60 more missed calls. Did grandpa even text her? My body started shaking, what was happening?

"Grandpa?" I called out. He didn't answer. I got up and looked around for him, dodging weird things on the ground until I tripped over a wire running from one side of the wall to the other. I remember it hurt pretty badly, I slammed my ribs on the ground because I haadn't caught myself fast enough. My eyes opened to a dark red stain on the bottom of the wall. Like someone had splattered paint. But I knew what blood was. I had scraped my knee too many times before. The fear in me spread to my throat and I almost cried. I was no longer searching for my grandpa. Something was really, really wrong. I peeked around corners and stepped as quietly as possible. I was looking for something, but I didn't know what. It didn't feel like a heist movie anymore, it felt like a thriller.

I looked into a room and saw he wasn't there, so I crept in and gazed around. The room seemed normal enough, but I went looking through drawers. For something, anything, that would prove my fear wasn't just in my head. And I found it. A skull, no bigger than my hand, was sitting atop a book. I picked it up, and inspected it. It definitely wasn't a bird skull. My surroundings felt like they were stretching away from me like silly putty and the skull got smaller and smaller. I put it back and went to leave the room when my grandpa blocked the door.

"Whatcha got there, dear?"

"Nothing, nothing!" My voice pinched.

"You little bastard, you can't just leave things alone!" He said and slapped me hard across the face. "what is wrong with you?! Mind your own damn business!" He forcefully grabbed my arm, hard enough to bruise and dragged me through the house. "You little shit." He kept spewing insults and what fear I had before turned to terror. This wasn't my grandpa. It wasn't. My grandpa made me breakfast and sang me songs, he put bandaids on me when I got hurt and called me sweetheart. Before my eyes he appeared to turn devilish. Red skin and horns potruded from his head and sharp teeth descended from his top lip.

He got to a closet and stopped. I gazed up and saw it had a padlock. Someone wouldn't just need a key to get in, they'd need a password. He threw me on the ground inside and looked at me with the darkest expression I've ever seen on a human face. "You keep quiet." He sternly pointed at me and slammed the door closed. Quiet, I wasn't. I cried and cried until my throat was dry and my eyes stung. I didn't scream, though. Now I wish I had. There are a lot of things I wish I had done differently. I thought on those things while I was stuck in there. Should've said no, should've blocked him, should've told mom, should've never been born.

But there was one thing grandpa forgot. I had my phone. Shakily, I turned it on to see 9% battery left on it. That'd have to be good enough. I called my mom.

"...Mom?" I breathed into the phone when she picked up.

"Oh my god, my baby! Where are you?! What happened?!" She screamed so loud I got scared grandpa would hear her.

"Mom, you gotta be quiet, I'm at grandpa's."

"What?! Honey, I don't even know where he lives! How am I supposed to get to you?!"

"I don't know," I cried. "Mommy, I'm scared! Please help me. He locked me in a closet."

"I'm coming to get you, baby, don't worry, the police are with me, we're coming!"

She never hung up and I could hear her tears as my phone died. I was alone again. We were at least an hour away, and she didn't know where I was. My breathing started getting heavier and heavier. I looked at the door as it seemed to sway and black dots covered it. I was dead. I was dead. I was dead. I was dead and I was stuck here.

Was heaven real? Would I get in? Was I pure enough? I had lied to my mother, a sin. Maybe they'd see the situation I was in and take pity on me. I laid down and imagined what heaven might look like to calm myself. Bright blue-white clouds, golden spires, a man with a harp and wings. My dog.

Time passed like a button through mollasses. Every once in awhile, I heard my grandpa walk around in the kitchen and mumble about something. I had accepted my fate until I heard sirens blaring through the walls. I heard my grandpa yelp in panic and struggle to run out the back door. Then I heard a loud commanding voice tell him to get down.

"I'm in here! I'm in here!" I banged on the door with my last remaining strength and heard someone run up.

"We got you, kid, don't worry! Does anyone have bolt cutters?" A woman said on the other side.

"It's probably 1234!" I yelled out, hoping to help.

"Son of a bitch, that worked."

They opened the door and light rushed in.

"Baby! My baby!" My mom ran to hold me.

"Ma'am we have to check first, please wait outside." An officer said, trying to pull her back.

"Are you fucking kidding me? My kid has been missing for 21 hours and you want me to go outside?! Are you fucking insane?!" She screeched at the poor man who was trying to get to me.

They relented and she carried me out to an ambulance that was wailing in a familiar tone. I asked if they could turn it off and thankfully they did. My mom held my hand as a strange woman checked on me, shining a light in my eyes and determined I was ok. The rest is a blur.

i found out the truth about my grandpa and i feel sick (part 3, final part)

I found out the truth about my grandpa and I feel sick (REAL part 2)

Relistened and bought the book