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Girl

Hello there. For those of you who are in Australia, good evening to you. For those that aren't, good whatever time of day it is. I should be sleeping right now, since I have work at 6:00am tomorrow, but I haven't been sleeping anyway, so I thought I might as well share the hell I've been going through with you lovely people.

As with many individuals, and myself especially, I am a fan of all the creepypasta that circulates on the internet. We all know that a lot of it is entirely fictional, but what I am going to share with you tonight is true, and I can't stress that enough. Actually, I don’t think I care, because really, all I need right now is to share my experiences with people who won't dismiss them immediately. So here goes.

As I said before, I live in Australia. Western Australia, in fact. I live in a mining town called Karratha, and if you're aware of the current mining boom in western Australia, you can imagine that there would be a ton of work here. High paying work at that. As for me, I started working at Karratha airport as a bag chucker for Qantas at the beginning of this year. With $1400 after tax a week, I'm pretty much set to start uni next year (I'm eighteen, by the way). With that kind of cash available, people from everywhere flock to Karratha to get a piece of the action. One of those people would be my leading hand (supervisor), who I'll call Phil.

I started working with Phil two weeks after I first started, and we had a ton of things in common: we both were smokers, we both listeedn to heavy metal, and we were both massive stoners back in the day ('back in the day' refers to 'when we didn’t have to get drug tested to work') just to name a few. Since I was a local, I had my own friends which I had made over the years and that I usually hung out with, and although Phil was twenty-three, it didn’t stop us hanging out together occasionally. Right now, though, he would have to be either my closest friend or my worst enemy.

About ten weeks ago, me and Phil organised a week annual leave holiday, and cheap tickets to Busselton via Perth (sometimes it's good working for Qantas). Since Phil moved from Busselton originally (Busselton is another town in western Australia, down south near Perth), he knew the people and the place well. His sister Sam owned a house there close to the beach. Every night was a piss-up where we hit the bars and clubs, and joined in the illegal bonfires that are always there.

One night, on a walk back to Sam’s house from a bar, we got onto the topic of the paranormal. Since it was Wednesday, we were still fairly sober, but in a mood enough to talk about scary shit. I will say this now: I am a very cynical person, or perhaps was a cynical person. I have never had a paranormal experience in my life, am close to being an atheist, and I enjoy lurking /x/ because imagination is an virtue that I find very respectable in a person.

Phil decided to let slip to me a special quality about himself; that he was in-tune with the paranormal. I told him he was a homo and that people who believe in that shit are attention seekers. He wasn’t offended at this, but instead smiled and let out a small chuckle as he looked towards the moon. "Would you like me to prove it to you?" he asked me.

I told him he could try if he really wanted to, but he was going to have to try hard. And that is the first time I heard about the girl in the blue dress. Sounds a bit cliché, doesn’t it? After telling him so, he told me to look at why it was indeed so cliché. The innocence of a child is a sacred thing, and paranormal experiences involving children are definitely more distressing, I would imagine.

The story of the girl in the blue dress takes place when Phil was fourteen. Him, Sam, and his single mother moved into a house selling for relatively cheap on the market. Of course, the house was so cheap because a man murdered his wife and daughter in their beds there, unknown to his family at the time. He told me the first night he slept there, he saw a girl with a blue dress standing at the end of his bed. Being his first paranormal experience, he thought he was dreaming. After covering his head for five minutes, racing to the light switch and finding nothing in his room, he dismissed it as a nightmare and went back to sleep.

The next two years of his life were prominent with sightings of the girl with the blue dress, usually with Phil catching sight of her in the edges of his vision. When he was seventeen, he rode home from a friend's house at around 10:00pm. While instinctively looking back to see the smoke he'd ditched behind him had caught on his hoodie, he saw her standing there, completely visible in the dark night. He fought the urge to look away, intent on keeping his eyes on her so she would not disappear. Unfortunately, at the time, he was on his bike, and he went sideways as he struck a pothole.

He quickly got up to catch her again, but she was gone. Then he felt an icy hand on his shoulder, and turned to find her face inches away from his, somehow illuminated in the night to the point where he could not see anything but her. He held her gaze, and asked her what she wanted from him.

"It's okay," she said.

"What is?"

"It's okay. I don’t remember it. Thank you."

Then she vanished, and all he could see was darkness.

After recounting his experience to me, he could see I wasn’t convinced.

"I'll tell you what," he said, "Sam has a Ouija board. We used to fuck around with at a mate's house. You wanna try it?"

I told him that as soon as we got to Sam’s, we should break it out. Bad idea.

Sam’s boyfriend, who I won't name for my own reasons (more on that later), wanted to try it too. He was a non-believer, as much as I was, and wasn’t keen to talk to the dead muc. Still, he had nothing else really to do, as Sam was at a friend's house for the night.

Phil brought out the board and set it up. I've got to be honest, I was a little nervous, because I had heard so much about Ouija boards. I was particularly nervous at how certain Phil was that something would happen.

Once set up, we each put two fingers on the planchette. Before anyone could make a suggestion, Phil spoke out loud:

"Are there any spirits we can talk to, that would be willing to talk with us?"

The planchette made its way over to "yes".

"Can we speak to Gilles de Rais?"

The planchette didn’t move.

"Who the fuck is Gilles de Rais?" I asked him.

"Why don’t you ask him?" he smiled at me.

"Ok, who are you, Mister Gilles de Rais?"

The planchette, slowly and surely, started to move. It spelt out "B-A-R-O-N", then "R-A-P-I-S-T", and finally "M-U-R-D-E-R-E-R".

"This is fucking stupid, dude," said Sam’s boyfriend, "you obviously know who he is, so you're moving the thing."

"Ok then," said Phil, "ask him something that me and Gavin (I’m Gavin) could not possibly know."

He sat there for a second, then said aloud, "What was my great-great grandmother's first name?"

The planchette slowly made out the letters "A-L-I-C-". When it hit the 'C', he jumped backwards from the table and screamed the most real, terrified scream I have ever heard, his face as white as fucking powder.

"How the fuck did you know my fucking grandmother was named fucking Alice!?"

"I didn’t, man. I told you this shit works — what are you doing...?"

Phil now had fear in his eyes. His sister's boyfriend had just gotten a fucking meat cleaver out from the kitchen and was coming towards us with it. "Chill the fuck out, man!" I pleaded with him.

"I’m gonna ask you again," he said slowly, "how did you know?"

Phil said carefully, "Sam told me-"

"Sam doesn’t even fucking know that, you cunt! What the fuck is this shit?!"

He threw the cleaver at the board and missed, then got his keys and left in his car. I looked at Phil and asked him if we could talk to the girl in the blue dress.

Me and Phil sat on opposite sides of the board. I was shitting myself, but also so excited.

"There was a little girl that I used to know, but I don’t see her much anymore. She used to wear a blue dress, and had blonde hair. Would it be possible to speak to her?"

The planchette moved immediately to no, almost too fast. Since I was sitting across from yes and no, Phil looked at me and told me if I didn’t want to speak to her, we can stop. I told him I didn’t move it. He shrugged his shoulders, and without saying anything, the planchette moved rapidly across the board, spelling out, "F-R-I-E-N-D." Phil looked confused.

"Who are we speaking to?"

"A-M-A-N-D-A."

"Hello Amanda, who were you in life?"

"D-R-E-S-S."

"Are you the girl in the blue dress?"

It moved to "yes" on the board.

"Why do you not want to talk to us?"

"F-R-I-E-N-D."

He looked at me. I was absorbed in the absolute enormity of the situation. I asked out loud if she did not want to talk to me. It moved to "yes".

"Why do you not want to talk to me?"

"H-A-T-E M-E."

I didn’t know whether to feel foolish or not. She thought I would not like her?

"Your friend Phil tells me you are very likeable, why do you think I’ll hate you?"

"H-A-U-N-T Y-O-U."

I stared at the board, completely frozen. The only thing that moved was my arm as the planchette spelled out:

"D-I-E."

Phil slapped my hand off the thing at that instant and shoved the whole board back into its packaging. A sense of dread washed over me, as I think I knew the answer to my next question.

"What the fuck does that mean?"

He told me not to worry about it and that we should go back to the pub. For the rest of the night, the way he looked at me was if he knew he had done something very, very fucking bad to me.

Our trip in Busselton ended. We went back to Karratha and didn’t speak about what happened that night. That changed a week later, when one day at work, Phil called in sick. Then he asked our boss if he could speak to me. When I picked up the phone, he was breathing heavily into the receiver. My manager turned to me and told me to tell him to go to the hospital, because he wouldn’t listen to her when she said it. I told him he sounded like he was dying, and that he should probably go see a doctor. He said to me:

"She is back, and she is fucking pissed off."

I wanted to tell him to fuck off, to stop messing with my fucking head. I asked him what the hell he was talking about, even though I already knew. He said she came to him in his dreams last night and told him he should not have told me about her, and that she was mad as hell.

"It was only supposed to be me and her, dude... that’s what she said to me. I don’t know what she's going to do."

That night, I woke up to find her standing at the end of my bed, blue dress illuminating the darkness. My hand flung to my lamp and she disappeared with the light. I didn’t sleep for the rest of that night.

The next night, I slept with my lamp on. She screamed at me in my dreams. She called me unnatural, said that I was not supposed to know of her existence. I woke up to find that the only light was coming from my TV, which was running static.

The third night, I had my room light on. In my dreams, she told me that light does nothing. It was pitch black when I woke up.

The only way I could avoid her was by staying awake. One night, I dozed off at my computer and woke to find notepad up. There were five words that had been written there:

"I DIED IN MY SLEEP".

Roughly two weeks ago, I told my parents what was going on, not giving a shit what they would think. It was at the point where I needed help to handle my situation. They told me that I’m still growing up, and that I was going to experience some weird things when I’m growing up. I told them I’m fucking eighteen, that I’m not imagining shit. They said we would do something about it the next day.

I went to work four hours late that day. It was the first time I'd been for a week, and the first time I saw Phil since he'd talked to me on the phone. I saw him in the staff car park, where he was getting something from his car. I went up to him and slugged him in the face, then kicked him while he was on the ground. I was arrested for assault by the police on the scene, but Phil dropped the charges. Later that day, he called me up and told me he was sorry for what he did. I asked him how bad it could get. He said he didn’t know.

I travelled to Perth to see a psychiatrist. He gave me these pills that make me giddy and sleepy. That night, in my dreams, she tore her dress off, stood naked in front of me, and told me to fuck her. I said no. I woke up with my dick burning, red as a fucking tomato. It was the worst pain I felt in my entire life.

I saw her in the mirror behind me after I had a shower one day. Her jaw was missing from where her father had shot it off, and her sockets were empty from where he ripped out her eyes.

The pills made me sleep. While I slept, she would taunt me with her demonic voice, somehow conveying her words with a flapping tongue that slapped against her throat and upper jaw. She told me I was not made to see her.

Five days ago, I smashed my head into my mirror, because she was staring back at me. Two days later, I woke up in a hospital to see her standing next to me. I fought back the scream, and asked her what I could do to make her happy.

She told me to die.

I woke the whole ward up with my mangled screaming, and the doctors found me with a dislocated jaw.

I was released from hospital yesterday. I plan to see someone that specializes in the paranormal department. It's getting too much for me to handle. Phil can't help me; his demon is now mine.

My intention of telling my story now is to let people know of the dangers of fucking around with stuff that you should not ever be fucking around with.

And it is especially hard to do so while I sit at my laptop, unable to speak or scream as she stands next to me and laughs her disgusting laugh. All I can hear is the slap of her tongue against her throat.

She told me to tell you guys that.


Original author unknown

Originally uploaded on September 4th, 2011

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