Post by cannonlongshot on Nov 23, 2016 23:39:53 GMT
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Statement of Samuel Casey, regarding an unexplained incident at his family home, 1980.
Statement 9951201 begins:
So I’m not really sure why I’m giving you this statement. Actually, I’m only here because my therapist told be that unloading myself to “an impartial observer” might aid my treatment. Bloody quacks.
Anyway, I heard about your institute from a friend, and I reckon, what is there to lose? Worst case scenario, I end up with a bit of catharsis, and worst case I can’t imagine it will come back to bite me in the backside, what with it taking place so long ago.
Okay, so I think this must have been about… fifteen years ago? We were in a house we moved out of ten years ago,and it was a good few years before that, so yeah, I guess about fifteen years ago. There were four of us living in that old house, my parents and my older sister. Now, my parents had my sister young, so she is almost five years older than me. As it was we were never particularly close - I think she liked to play with me like a doll when I wasn’t able to talk back, but as soon as I started toddling it became clear we were very different people. I would be playing outside while she stayed indoors to play with dolls, or, as she grew older, read and bake.
It sounds at this point that I don’t like my sister, but that’s not true. I think she maybe always got treated differently by my parents - think they always went out of their way to make her happy - but I don’t hold her responsible for that at all. That’s what my therapist said, anyway, and I’m coming to terms with that. I read about traditional family dynamics, and it always seems to be the younger sibling that got more slack, but that wasn’t the case for me. My parents didn’t want me playing outside, never going out with friends even at their worst outright favouritism… I’ve come to terms with that now. They had their reasons. I don’t care for what they were.
I must have been ten or so when this happened. I had been placed in my room until I had finished my homework and, as is often the case, I had snuck out through my window. I think if my parents had moved Sarah from her room and put me into the room without a tree within arms reach, they wouldn’t have had so much trouble keeping me inside. Anyway, it was just turning dark, and I was heading back through our garden fence. I can still remember the smell, very vividly, I guess as a result of what happened afterwards. I’d slipped on a log in the woodland that backed onto our property, and the thick loamy smell of the autumn ground was hanging around me. I’d had my fill of adventure for the day, and was ready to sit down and take the punishment that was waiting for me back home.
As I crossed the garden, I looked up at my sister's window. I was sure I was going to see someone looking back at me, probably my mother wearing a disapproving look, and I was honestly surprised when I didn’t. I don’t know why, but that stuck out at the time as odd. Anyway, I could feel the chill of the evening settling in, so I hurried to the back door and opened it.
I had almost removed my filthy shoes before I realised anything weird was going on. My mother was standing by the stove, a pot of something almost overflowing on the stove, and she slowly turned towards me, and I began to make my excuses before I stopped. It wasn’t my mother at all. Instead, suspended from the ceiling on what I assume was a thin string was one of my mother's dresses - the one she’d been wearing earlier that day. Outside one of the arms, I could just see what looked like a branch poking out. A shiver ran up my spine and I dashed over. The rapid movement must have dislodged the string, though, as when I reached it it dropped to the ground and a bunch of rocks scattered across the floor. I had seen pebbles just like it that morning in the stream not half a mile away.
I was freaked by this, not to mention confused, so I dashed from the kitchen into the sitting room and was greeted by the sight of one of my father’s suits above the seat where he sat and read the paper. At this point the only conclusion my mind would jump to was that there was probably something similar waiting for me in my sister’s bedroom. Pounding up the stairs, I threw the door open and revealed - my sister, who was sitting on her bed painting her nails. She looked up angrily, and I was about to stutter out some questions when I heard a voice calling out from the bottom of the stairs. Looking, I saw my father - dressed in the suit that had been hanging above his chair not ten seconds earlier, correct to the small ketchup stain on the left sleeve.. He told me that it was rude to barge into people’s bedrooms uninvited,and to close the door at once. I obeyed, speechless.
My mother chastised me in the end not for escaping my homework duty, but for somehow sneaking back into the house and leaving mud everywhere. How she thought I got in, I never found out. Maybe she thought climbed the tree.
STATEMENT ENDS
Archivist’s Notes:
Dissociation from reality due to a dysfunctional family unit is not an unheard of problem, and the fact that the witness admits to being sent here more as an act of therapy than one of academic study does not work in this statement’s favour. However, the events described are not what make this statement interesting.
The similarity in both story and name with statement 9720803 has not gone unnoticed. If nothing else, Sarah Casey was surprised when we contacted her for the second time in as many weeks. She told us that Mr. Casey (Jr.) passed away after the vehicle he was driving was involved in a collision on the A64, near York.
If not for a rather awkward phone call, I don’t think I would have realised their similarities if they hadn’t both been found within a single file. The file was labelled with “H.P.?”. I’m not sure what is more frightening - that there is a connection between these two statements, or that I’m not the first archivist to notice this.
END NOTES
Statement of Samuel Casey, regarding an unexplained incident at his family home, 1980.
Statement 9951201 begins:
So I’m not really sure why I’m giving you this statement. Actually, I’m only here because my therapist told be that unloading myself to “an impartial observer” might aid my treatment. Bloody quacks.
Anyway, I heard about your institute from a friend, and I reckon, what is there to lose? Worst case scenario, I end up with a bit of catharsis, and worst case I can’t imagine it will come back to bite me in the backside, what with it taking place so long ago.
Okay, so I think this must have been about… fifteen years ago? We were in a house we moved out of ten years ago,and it was a good few years before that, so yeah, I guess about fifteen years ago. There were four of us living in that old house, my parents and my older sister. Now, my parents had my sister young, so she is almost five years older than me. As it was we were never particularly close - I think she liked to play with me like a doll when I wasn’t able to talk back, but as soon as I started toddling it became clear we were very different people. I would be playing outside while she stayed indoors to play with dolls, or, as she grew older, read and bake.
It sounds at this point that I don’t like my sister, but that’s not true. I think she maybe always got treated differently by my parents - think they always went out of their way to make her happy - but I don’t hold her responsible for that at all. That’s what my therapist said, anyway, and I’m coming to terms with that. I read about traditional family dynamics, and it always seems to be the younger sibling that got more slack, but that wasn’t the case for me. My parents didn’t want me playing outside, never going out with friends even at their worst outright favouritism… I’ve come to terms with that now. They had their reasons. I don’t care for what they were.
I must have been ten or so when this happened. I had been placed in my room until I had finished my homework and, as is often the case, I had snuck out through my window. I think if my parents had moved Sarah from her room and put me into the room without a tree within arms reach, they wouldn’t have had so much trouble keeping me inside. Anyway, it was just turning dark, and I was heading back through our garden fence. I can still remember the smell, very vividly, I guess as a result of what happened afterwards. I’d slipped on a log in the woodland that backed onto our property, and the thick loamy smell of the autumn ground was hanging around me. I’d had my fill of adventure for the day, and was ready to sit down and take the punishment that was waiting for me back home.
As I crossed the garden, I looked up at my sister's window. I was sure I was going to see someone looking back at me, probably my mother wearing a disapproving look, and I was honestly surprised when I didn’t. I don’t know why, but that stuck out at the time as odd. Anyway, I could feel the chill of the evening settling in, so I hurried to the back door and opened it.
I had almost removed my filthy shoes before I realised anything weird was going on. My mother was standing by the stove, a pot of something almost overflowing on the stove, and she slowly turned towards me, and I began to make my excuses before I stopped. It wasn’t my mother at all. Instead, suspended from the ceiling on what I assume was a thin string was one of my mother's dresses - the one she’d been wearing earlier that day. Outside one of the arms, I could just see what looked like a branch poking out. A shiver ran up my spine and I dashed over. The rapid movement must have dislodged the string, though, as when I reached it it dropped to the ground and a bunch of rocks scattered across the floor. I had seen pebbles just like it that morning in the stream not half a mile away.
I was freaked by this, not to mention confused, so I dashed from the kitchen into the sitting room and was greeted by the sight of one of my father’s suits above the seat where he sat and read the paper. At this point the only conclusion my mind would jump to was that there was probably something similar waiting for me in my sister’s bedroom. Pounding up the stairs, I threw the door open and revealed - my sister, who was sitting on her bed painting her nails. She looked up angrily, and I was about to stutter out some questions when I heard a voice calling out from the bottom of the stairs. Looking, I saw my father - dressed in the suit that had been hanging above his chair not ten seconds earlier, correct to the small ketchup stain on the left sleeve.. He told me that it was rude to barge into people’s bedrooms uninvited,and to close the door at once. I obeyed, speechless.
My mother chastised me in the end not for escaping my homework duty, but for somehow sneaking back into the house and leaving mud everywhere. How she thought I got in, I never found out. Maybe she thought climbed the tree.
STATEMENT ENDS
Archivist’s Notes:
Dissociation from reality due to a dysfunctional family unit is not an unheard of problem, and the fact that the witness admits to being sent here more as an act of therapy than one of academic study does not work in this statement’s favour. However, the events described are not what make this statement interesting.
The similarity in both story and name with statement 9720803 has not gone unnoticed. If nothing else, Sarah Casey was surprised when we contacted her for the second time in as many weeks. She told us that Mr. Casey (Jr.) passed away after the vehicle he was driving was involved in a collision on the A64, near York.
If not for a rather awkward phone call, I don’t think I would have realised their similarities if they hadn’t both been found within a single file. The file was labelled with “H.P.?”. I’m not sure what is more frightening - that there is a connection between these two statements, or that I’m not the first archivist to notice this.
END NOTES
