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April 2, 2011; 3:18 PM
I’m starting this diary first and foremost because no one believes me.
I decided last night that I would start keeping a log of recent events that have been going on with my family. A few weeks ago, my six-year-old daughter, Katelyn, invented a new imaginary friend. My wife and I thought that this was all completely normal. As it is, Katelyn is an introverted and somewhat lonely child. She doesn’t have many friends in her school, and it would only make sense that she would make up one of her own. I’ve asked my wife about this situation several times, being that I didn’t want Katelyn to start ignoring the real people in her life or to become more committed to making imaginary friends than real ones. Daisy told me to simply leave the situation alone, and if it began to go out of control, she would stop it. I should mention that Daisy is my wife’s name.
Sure enough, about three weeks later, things began getting strange.
The first incident was when Katelyn came home from school alone. Normally, Daisy works part-time at a thrift store in town. Her shift ends at two, after which she walks to the district elementary school and picks Katelyn up. Katelyn knows that she is supposed to wait until Daisy shows up. Neither of us want our little girl traveling alone.
That day, by the time Daisy arrived at the school, Katelyn was already gone. She spent about half an hour walking around the school, asking teachers and office employees where Katelyn had gone. They claimed that none of them had seen her, that she had simply walked off of the school property a few minutes after the bell rang.
Panicking, my wife ran back to our house. Sure enough, Katelyn was there waiting for her. Daisy was angry, but managed to control herself and calmly asked our daughter why she went home alone. Her response?
“Isobel told me it would be okay.”
Katelyn claimed that her imaginary friend had walked home with her. She said that she wasn’t alone at all, and that her friend, whose name she claims to be Isobel, would keep her safe on her way. I arrived home shortly after. Daisy told me everything that had happened and told me to try and reason with our daughter. I told her that since she had come home safe today and didn’t break any safety rules (ie. she didn’t talk to any strangers, didn’t cross the road without looking, didn’t stop anywhere before she came home) we would let her off with a warning this time. She told me that Isobel had kept her safe, so if she ever had to do this again, Isobel would probably be there to keep her safe as well. It was just like my wife had told me.
So, naturally, I told her to let Isobel know.
April 3, 2011; 3:26 PM
The second incident was about two weeks later. Once again, Katelyn had walked home alone. My wife was once again thrown into a state of panic and ran home, only to find Katelyn sitting at the kitchen table, calmly reading a book and picking at some kind of pastry. My wife reined in her fury for the second time that month and asked Katelyn what she had told her the last time she had walked home alone. Katelyn replied:
“It’s just like last time. Isobel said it would be okay. She walked me home and when we got here, she made me this.” She pointed at the pastry. My wife asked where she had gotten it. Katelyn repeated her last explanation, claiming Isobel had made it and that it was called a scone.
April 4, 2011; 2:53 PM
The third incident, and probably the most disconcerting so far, occurred only a week and a half ago. The family was at home, it was late, and Daisy and I were readying ourselves to go to sleep. We’d put Katelyn to bed some two hours earlier, so both of us were sure that she was asleep by now. We headed upstairs to our bedroom only to hear whispering while passing by Katelyn’s door, which was swung slightly ajar into the hallway.
Daisy stopped in front of our daughter’s room. She pried the door open another inch and peeked inside. “Katelyn, honey, what are you doing?” she asked.
I couldn’t understand our daughter’s answer. It sounded as if she’d buried herself under her stuffed animals again. I swung the door open and, sure enough, that was exactly what she had done. I walked in and took a few off the top of the pile, revealing my daughter’s sleepy face. I asked her what she was doing up so late at night.
“I couldn’t sleep. Isobel was telling me a bedtime story.”
At the mention of her imaginary friend’s name, Daisy turned away and disappeared into our bedroom. I sat down on Katelyn’s bed and unearthed her from the pile of stuffed animals, then tucked her back under her covers and said goodnight for the second time. I left her room after that, sure that she would fall asleep soon enough.
Later on, I woke up to hear the whispering again. It didn’t stop until it was almost midnight.
April 6, 2011; 12:14 PM
My last entry was the last we heard of Isobel so far. Another incident just happened last night.
It was similar to the last one, in that it happened after Katelyn had gone to bed. Daisy and I had been trying to get some sleep at the time as well.
I awakened to hear footsteps in the hallway. Thinking that Katelyn was sleepwalking, as I have occasionally seen her do, I got out of bed to go find her and put her back in her room before she hurt herself. I looked around the second floor first, since she normally doesn’t stray too far from her room in her sleep. I heard a faint clattering in the kitchen downstairs. I ran down to see if Katelyn was there. Sure enough, she was.
My daughter was sitting at the table, drowsy but fully awake, and holding a steaming mug of sweet-smelling tea.
I walked into the kitchen and asked Katelyn what she was doing down there in the middle of the night. She claimed that, once again, she hadn’t been able to sleep, and not even another story from Isobel could calm her down. So her imaginary friend had taken her downstairs and made her a cup of tea that she claimed would put her to sleep right away. I looked into her cup. The liquid was warm, a transparent amber color, and had a rich, sugary smell coming off of it. I asked her what kind it was. She said it was chamomile with honey.
I’m still perplexed by this entire scenario. I don’t know how she had gotten it into her head to come downstairs and make tea to put herself to sleep. What confused me even more was the fact that she had managed to boil water when she didn’t even know how to work the stove.
April 9, 2011; 3:41 PM
Another incident with Isobel has happened. The strange part with this one in particular is its proximity to the last occurrence. With the last few, we had at least a week in between. Let’s hope that this doesn’t turn into a pattern.
Katelyn once again walked home from school today. My wife didn’t even bother with trying to control her anger this time. She gave Katelyn a half-hour-long lecture, reminding her over and over of all the things that could have happened. Our daughter only replied that no, none of those things would happen as long as she had Isobel to walk with her. My wife shouted that Isobel is not real and that an imaginary person won’t be any help if Katelyn were to get abducted by some stranger and held for ransom. Katelyn, of course, denied all of this, then shut herself in her room and refused to come down for dinner. That was the punishment Daisy was planning on giving her anyway.
I passed by Katelyn’s room while on my way back. I heard the same whispering that I had heard in the third incident. This time Katelyn’s voice was mixed in.
“My mommy and daddy said that you’re not real.”
I heard the whispering in between my daughter’s words.
“Mommy said I can’t walk home with you anymore. She thinks I’m going by myself and that something is going to happen to me if I keep doing it.”
It took me a while to realize that there were two distinct voices in the room.
“I know. You told me already, but they don’t believe it.”
I still couldn’t make out what the other voice was saying.
“Okay. But we can’t walk home anymore. I’m going to get in trouble. Okay?”
I opened the door. Katelyn was sitting on her bed, completely alone.
April 12, 2011; 3:11 PM
I think I’m starting to have hallucinations.
Last night, at about 7:30, I was downstairs in the living room watching a movie with Daisy and Katelyn. Of course, Isobel had come too. Katelyn spends nearly all of her time with Isobel.
I don’t know what it was that I was seeing. Maybe there was something in front of the screen, or I missed something in the movie that would have made me see what I did. But I could have sworn that there was a shadow being cast right next to where Katelyn was sitting.
April 15, 2011; 3:21 PM
Daisy and I got into a fight last night.
It wasn’t anything major. Just a little argument. Every couple has one at one time or another. It was over Katelyn’s odd obsession with her imaginary friend. Daisy is beginning to believe that Katelyn has some kind of mental disorder and needs to be sent to a psychiatrist. I told her she was overreacting and that Isobel hasn’t taken priority in Katelyn’s life. Our daughter still goes to school, still talks to her teachers, and Isobel hasn’t gotten in the way of her having a normal life. I told Daisy to just wait it out and that Katelyn would get over Isobel once she started making other friends. My wife agreed with me and finally began to calm down.
Of course, the fight still got Katelyn upset.
At some point, Katelyn, who had been downstairs playing her Kirby game in the living room, had heard us shouting and ran upstairs. I found her in her bedroom, buried under her stuffed animals for the third time this month with a blanket wrapped tightly around her shoulders. I came in, dug her out of the plush pile and asked what was wrong. She asked, “Are you and Mommy going to get a divorce?” I told her no, and she responded, “Good. Isobel hopes you won’t.”
I found this comment a little personal to be coming from an imaginary friend. Without thinking, I asked Katelyn what business Isobel had in mine and Daisy’s personal life. Katelyn stared at me for a while, as if I’d been speaking in another language. Then she said, “Isobel just wants me to be happy. And I don’t want you and Mommy to divorce.”
I decided to leave it at that. I left Katelyn alone to sort things out herself. Daisy came in and apologized later. When she came into our room a few minutes later, she seemed a little worried. I asked her what was wrong. This was what she told me.
“Katelyn said that Isobel threatened me.”
Apparently, Katelyn’s imaginary friend told her that if Daisy ever did anything to get her upset again, she would make something bad happen. Daisy had asked her what that something would be. Katelyn had refused to answer. I asked her what Katelyn could possibly have been talking about. Daisy said she didn’t know. My wife is a good woman who has never laid a hand on our daughter and never will. We found it odd that Isobel would make such a jarring accusation. The both of us had a hard time falling asleep.
One more thing. I heard the whispering again that night.
April 17, 2011; 4:21 PM
I asked Katelyn a few questions about Isobel yesterday.
I decided to start things off by asking her what Isobel looks like. I figured that it wouldn’t be too hard a question to answer. As it turned out, Isobel’s description was a lot more difficult to get out of Katelyn than I would have expected. The first part of the conversation went something like this.
“Is Isobel a person?”
“Of course Isobel is a person.”
“So she’s just a normal person? I know you like fairy tales and things like that, don’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“So Isobel’s not a fairy or a witch or a mermaid or anything?”
A pause from Katelyn. “I don’t know.”
“So what does Isobel look like? Is she tall or short?”
“Yeah. She’s tall. Really, really tall.”
“Okay. Is she old or young?”
Another pause from Katelyn. “Old or young?”
“Yeah. Is she old, like Grandma? Or young, like you?”
It took a while for her to answer. “Well, it’s kind of hard to say. I guess she’s young.”
“Like you?”
“No, like Mommy.”
“So she’s a young lady?”
“Yeah. But she’s not really young.”
“What do you mean?”
Another pause. “Well, she looks young, but she’s actually really old.”
“How old is she?”
“Really, really old. She said she’s even older than Grandma. She’s like a hundred or something.”
“Wow. That’s cool. How does she do that?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is Isobel skinny or fat?”
“She’s skinny. Really, really skinny.”
“Like those girls in the magazines cousin Jenna gets?”
“No. She’s skinnier. A lot skinnier.”
“How skinny is she?”
Katelyn held up her hand, her thumb and forefinger a few inches apart. “Like that.”
“Wow. She’s very skinny.”
“Yeah, she is.”
“Is Isobel pretty?”
Katelyn looked up at me as if she were confused, so I rephrased the question. “Is she pretty or ugly?”
Now Katelyn seemed offended. “Isobel is pretty. She’s really pretty.”
“Oh. Okay. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t call her ugly.”
“What about her hair?”
“It’s red. And really long.”
“And her eyes?”
“White.”
“White like my eyes or-”
“No, they’re just white.”
“What does Isobel wear?”
“It changes sometimes.”
“Well, what does she usually wear?”
“Dresses. She wears these really pretty princess dresses. She makes them herself.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. She said she wants to make one for me.”
“Did she say when she’ll make it?”
“No. But she will.”
“Is Isobel a princess?”
“I already told you, I don’t know.”
I decided to try and find out a little more. If this Isobel character was spending so much time with my daughter, I figured I may as well find out whether or not she’s a good person.
“What does Isobel do?”
“I don’t know.”
“You said she’s not a princess. Does she have another job?”
“I think so.”
“Did she tell you what it is?”
“No.”
“What is Isobel like?”
“Well she’s really nice. She makes me tea sometimes. She walked home from school with me for a while. And she likes to talk about all kinds of things. She likes fairies and monsters and ghosts and all the kinds of things I like.”
“So that’s what you guys talk about so much, huh?”
“Usually. And Isobel’s voice sounds kind of funny, too.”
“Really? What does it sound like?”
Katelyn proceeded to say “It sounds kind of like this” in an overplayed British accent.
“Is Isobel from England?”
“I don’t know where Isobel’s from.”
“Then how did you meet her?”
“She came into my room one night. She climbed in through the window.”
I found the last comment a little disquieting. I wasn’t sure how much longer I wanted this conversation to continue. I decided on one last question to ask before I let Katelyn be.
“Why did Isobel say those mean things about Mommy?”
Katelyn never gave me an answer.
April 22, 2011; 3:52 PM
When I came downstairs this morning, Katelyn had a cup of tea.
I didn’t know how she’d gotten it. As I’ve mentioned before, she’s six years old and doesn’t know how our stove works. Daisy was still in bed. She couldn’t possibly have made it. When I asked Katelyn where she had gotten her tea from, she told me the same thing that she’d been telling me the last few times this has happened. “Isobel made it for me.”
April 22, 2011; 4:12 PM
I just got a call from Daisy. She said Katelyn got in trouble at school. I’d better get home and see what this is about.
April 22, 2011; 7:43 PM
This is probably the first instance that I’ve had to make on of these journal entries at home. I just want to get this written down while the details are fresh in my mind.
Daisy is getting more and more distressed over this whole “Isobel” shenanigan. At first, I thought she was overreacting. This wouldn’t be the first time it had happened. But now I’m getting worried, too. For the first time in my life, I’ve found reason to be actually concerned for my daughter’s mental health.
I should probably explain why before I go any further.
When I made my entry at 4:12 today, Daisy had just called to tell me that Katelyn was in trouble. I arrived home around 6 PM to see Daisy in the kitchen getting dinner started and Katelyn curled up on the couch, her hear slouched forward and her hair hanging in her face. I asked Daisy what had happened, but she refused to tell me and insisted I ask Katelyn myself. I carefully approached my daughter and said hello. She looked up at the sound of my voice. Her hair fell sideways like it normally does, revealing a huge bruise on the side of her face.
Words can not express the shock I felt. I immediately asked her what happened.
“The boys at school started hitting me, but Isobel stopped them.”
I asked her who these boys were. She claimed that she didn’t know all of their names, but that none of them were her friends. She told me that she was just sitting on the playground during recess drawing pictures for Isobel with the chalk when they approached her and asked what she was doing. She told them that she was drawing with Isobel, and they immediately started laughing and calling her names. She got upset and started yelling back. One of the boys kicked her in the shin as a response, then the others proceeded to join in. She said that Isobel got angry and started pulling the boys away and hitting them herself. One of them apparently was beaten so roughly that he was knocked unconscious. By the time a teacher finally noticed the commotion and intervened, every single one of the boys had begun crying. All of them were pointing fingers at Katelyn, claiming they were just talking and she started hitting them for no reason. It was five witnesses’ testimony against one, so, naturally, Katelyn was the one who got in trouble.
“They think that I was the one hitting them,” she said. “But I didn’t do anything. They started it. And then Isobel made them stop.”
Daisy finished preparing dinner and sent Katelyn upstairs to eat by herself. We talked about that day’s major malfunction while she was gone. Daisy was definitely angry at Katelyn for getting herself in trouble, but she was even angrier with the school system and the fact that they’d done nothing to stop the bullying. As I’ve mentioned before, Katelyn is an introverted child. She always keeps to herself when given the choice, and normally other children will leave her alone. However, this wasn’t the first occasion where she had been bullied.
What had upset Daisy the most was the possibility that Katelyn’s “friendship” may be festering out of control. Both of us realize that Isobel is an imaginary character. There is no way that what Katelyn had told us could be true. However, I have never known Katelyn to react violently to bullying of any sort. I highly doubt that she could have taken down five boys singlehandedly.
But if Katelyn isn’t the one who had done this, then who is?
April 23, 2011; 3:12 AM
I just woke up about 20 minutes ago with a migraine. I want to write this down before I forget.
I left my bedroom for a few minutes to run down to the kitchen for some tylenol. When I returned, I thought I saw someone walking around in the upstairs hallway. However, when I got there myself, I saw nothing of the sort. It had looked like the silhouette of a woman from where I had been standing in the living room below. My first thought was that I had woken Daisy up and she was wondering what all the commotion was about. When I returned to our room, she was lying in bed and hadn’t moved an inch since I left. I was too tired to try and figure things out, so I decided to try and get back to sleep.
Before I had even gotten under the covers, something passed by in front of my bedroom door.
I can’t be entirely sure what it was. The door wasn’t open, only slightly ajar. I could only see a tiny piece of the silhouette at a time. I couldn’t figure out what it was, but I wasn’t entirely sure that it was human. It was certainly tall. At one point, the shadow had filled the entire gap between the door and doorway. It passed by quickly, and I didn’t get much detail out of the vision other than the shadow. I opened my laptop to add this entry immediately afterwards.
Daisy just woke up. I’ll be heading back to bed now.
April 25, 2011; 4:13 PM
Katelyn has started speaking strangely.
I woke up this morning and found her downstairs with a cup of tea again. I didn’t even bother asking where she’d gotten it from. I already knew that the answer was “Isobel.”
She looked up at me and smiled. “Good morning, daddy,” she said.
Her British accent was flawless.
After a quick and shock-ridden “good morning” from me, I asked her where she’d learned to talk that way. She said she’d been learning from Isobel. She liked how she talks. She thought it made her sound more fancy. I thought this was funny and decided to play along, talking in the best Brit accent I could manage. It came nowhere near as naturally as Katelyn’s did.
We both stopped and returned our voices to normal when we heard Daisy coming downstairs. I didn’t realize how truly disconcerting all this was until now. It makes me wonder what this “Isobel” person is like. Maybe I should ask Katelyn a little more about her sometime. She’s already started influencing how my daughter talks, apparently. I just hope that if she influences her in any other way, it’s in a good one.
My phone is ringing. I’ll finish this entry later.
April 25, 2011; 6:52 PM
Katelyn got in trouble at school again.
Daisy had already sent Katelyn up to her room by the time I got home today. She proceeded to launch directly into a ranting story about our daughter’s latest escapades.
“I’m seriously thinking about getting her a psychiatrist,” she told me. “This Isobel thing is going too far.”
Judging by all that had gone on today, I think I may be starting to agree with her.
Katelyn ended up getting another child hurt today. This time it was a girl. Her name was Mia. I’ve hear a lot of things about her from Katelyn. She’s victimized her before. Now that Isobel had come into play, Mia had all the more reason to be bullying Katelyn.
It was almost exactly the same scenario as last time. Mia went up to Katelyn unannounced, Mia started calling her names, Katelyn got upset, Mia wound up getting hurt. Daisy told me that the girl ended up with a severe concussion and had to be sent to the hospital. And, once again, Katelyn had claimed that Isobel had done it.
April 28, 2011; 8:41 PM
If I thought I was having hallucinations before, I know for sure that I am having them now.
I haven’t mentioned these occurrences in the journal entries yet because they always happen late at night when I’m too worn out to bother writing about them and I always forget by the next morning. This last one, however, was unusually concrete. I may as well bring up a few of my earlier experiences while I’m at it.
The first few hallucinations I’d had weren’t all that serious. Normally I would just see a shadow here or there where it shouldn’t be, or maybe a silhouette moving around in an empty room. Gradually they worsened. I’d actually had several experiences like the one in my April 23 entry, all at varying times of the night and in various places. I always seem to envision the same thing. I see a tall, humanoid figure either wearing a hooded cloak or with extremely long hair. Usually the lower half is relatively shapeless, but once or twice I thought I had seen legs. Its silhouette is extremely thin, coming close to skeletal, with a very small, wasp-like waist, similar to what would be created by a corset. I have never seen anything with much more detail than that. At least I hadn’t until just a few minutes ago. I wanted to enter this in my journal before I forgot.
I was putting away dishes after dinner while Daisy was upstairs putting Katelyn to bed. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a brief flash of red in the living room. I looked up and turned towards the doorway, but saw nothing. Pushing the vision into the back of my mind, I continued clearing out the dishwasher. I saw it again just a few moments later, this time accompanied by the faintest rustle of fabric. I looked up again, but once again the doorway was empty. I quickly went back to the task at hand, telling myself over and over that it was nothing, I was probably tired, it was just my imagination, etc. The third time I saw the faint flash of red, I forced myself to keep working at the dishwasher. Instead of standing upright, I strained my eyes sideways to look at the figure in the doorway.
I don’t know exactly what to call whatever it was that I saw. In a basic sense, it appeared to be human. But it was not, by any stretch of the imagination. From my position, I could only see it from the chest down. The vision was exceedingly tall, its waist at around the same level on the doorway that my shoulder normally is. I managed to pick out a pair of pale, skeletal arms on either side of its body, which was stick-thin at the waist. The vision appeared to be wearing a victorian dress, complete with a whalebone corset, embroidered in varying shades of black and dark grey. And, if I’m not mistaken, it had hair. Long, blood-red hair that swept all the way down to its hips.
I blinked once, and it was gone.
I’ve done a minimal amount of internet searching between that point and now. I haven’t been able to find anything to give a name to whatever this mysterious creature was. All things considered, it was probably another hallucination. I’m thinking I should probably be seeing a psychiatrist at this point.
April 28, 2011; 9:02 PM
I just remembered my questionnaire with Katelyn. My hallucination looked exactly like Isobel.
April 30, 2011; 4:56 PM
Daisy took Katelyn to see a child therapist today. According to her, there is absolutely nothing wrong with our daughter. She said that for children like Katelyn, who have a quiet personality and tend not to go out of their way to interact with others, occasionally make up friends of their own. Blaming her imaginary friend for her own mistakes were also common in children of her kind. This imagination can go to various extents, but in most cases it wears off over time. In Katelyn’s case, the imaginary aspect hadn’t progressed to the point where she began ignoring the real people in her life. She told us not to worry too much about it.
Of course, I never told her about the hallucinations. But then again, that would involve seeing an adult psychiatrist, wouldn’t it?
May 2, 2011; 3:12 PM
I don’t know whether I said this before or not, but I’m going to admit this right here and now. This Isobel situation is getting out of hand.
I don’t know what is happening to my daughter. She’s started speaking in a British accident. I hardly ever catch her slipping out of it anymore. She has started waking up half an hour before either Daisy or I ever do and making herself tea with the stove that she still doesn’t know how to use. Or, moreover, Isobel makes her tea. At least that’s what she always says. She has walked home alone from school three times this week. Daisy has stopped bothering to go after her about it. Every day she comes home to see our daughter doing her homework with a cup of tea and plate of small pastries on hand. I don’t know where any of it’s coming from. It’s as if we’d hired an invisible maidservant. Daisy is begging me to send her to the psychiatrist again, but I’m afraid we’ll get the same result as we did before, or worse, be given an appointment ourselves.
I’m not entirely sure that I would mind all that much anymore.
The hallucinations have only gotten worse. I hear the whispering coming from Katelyn’s room almost every night now. I’ve even understood it a few times. I thought I heard the strange voice mention Daisy’s name once. I don’t know what my wife has to do with anything, though. It’s been keeping me up at night. That, of course, only makes matters worse. Night is the time when I start seeing things wandering around the house. I swear, that tall, skinny shadow is haunting my dreams. And that’s not all I’ve seen. Every now and again, they become clearer. That night in front of the dishwasher has repeated itself more times and in more places than I’d like to admit.
I don’t know what any of it means. And honestly, I’m afraid to find out.
May 5, 2011; 12:12 AM
There are strange noises coming from Katelyn’s room. Daisy was gone when I woke up a few minutes ago. I’m going to investigate.
May 11, 2011; 5:34 PM
I haven’t had access to my laptop in nearly a week. I would have made this entry earlier, but all the police work has been taking up a lot of my time.
Daisy, my wife who I’ve been married to for 8 years, is dead. And Katelyn is missing.
I’ve told the police how it all happened. None of them believe me. This journal is the only place I can think to document this while the details are still fresh in my mind where no one will call me crazy or make any accusations. At least the police don’t suspect me of murdering Daisy. At least I have that much.
The night of May 5, I woke up at around midnight after only an hour of sleep. I was hearing an extraordinary amount of whispering going on in Katelyn’s room. Of course, hearing the whispers at night was nothing out of the ordinary at that point, but something just seemed a little off about it. A moment later, I noticed that Daisy wasn’t in bed with me.
I remembered hearing the strange voice in Katelyn’s room mention Daisy’s name once or twice before. I was struck with worry and immediately climbed out of bed and went out into the hallway to investigate. The door of Katelyn’s room was shut, which was definitely out of the ordinary, being that our daughter is afraid of the dark. I tried to open it, but the knob wouldn’t turn. My daughter didn’t have a lock on her bedroom door, and I wondered if it somehow was broken. Somewhere behind the door, I heard the few faint, scattered noises. It was difficult to point out anything in particular, but I thought that I heard something like scratching and heavy breathing. I stopped fiddling with the doorknob and listened. There was definitely something behind the door. Suddenly the breathing turned into a series of stifled, high-pitched cries. Something slammed into the door from the other side. I jumped back, startled, when I heard a voice behind me.
“Daddy?”
I whirled around to see Katelyn standing behind me, dressed in her little strawberry nightgown. Trying my hardest to feign a calm demeanor, I knelt down next to her and asked, “Katelyn, what is going on in your room?”
She shrugged and replied, “I don’t know.”
“Do you know where those noises are coming from?” I asked.
“No.” And a minute later, “Isobel told me not to go in there.”
Isobel. There was that name again.
“Katelyn, honey, is Isobel the one making those noises in there?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” It was unsettling, how calm she was about all of this.
“Did she tell you why you couldn’t go into your room?”
“No, she just told me I couldn’t.”
My nerves were on edge at this point. The noises in Katelyn’s room were growing louder. The thing inside hit the door again. I could definitely hear a desperate scratching now. I told Katelyn to stay put and returned to her bedroom door. My hands shaking, I reached hesitantly for the knob, not sure if it was still stuck or if it would turn this time, fully prepared for something to come bursting through the door and run me over...
The knob twisted and the door slammed open. Daisy came spilling out, gasping for air.
I stood, frozen for a moment, staring down at my suffocating wife before kneeling down next to her. “Daisy! Daisy are you alright?”
She blinked for a second, staring up at me, her eyes looking as though they were made of glass and struggling to catch her breath. Her hands shot out and fastened around the front of my shirt.
“We have to run,” she gasped. “We have to get out of here. Now.”
“Now?” I said, confused. “Why?” I looked up at the dark, gaping doorway of Katelyn’s bedroom. “What was going on in Katelyn’s room?”
Daisy didn’t answer, only clawed at my shoulders and staggered to her feet. “Isobel,” she murmured. “It’s Isobel. Run.”
“Isobel? Daisy, not you too!”
Daisy grabbed my shirt again, locking her eyes on mine. I’ve never seen her look more terrified in my life. “No,” she said. “No. It’s Isobel. She’s real.” Daisy let go of me and staggered back a step. “She’s real!” Her voice was wearing down to a gritty rasp.
“Isobel is...” I started to say something, but never finished. I turned back towards Katelyn’s room. At first I thought it was only the lack of light that was creating the inky blackness inside. But when I looked back, something was different. Something was wrong. It was almost as if the darkness had... shifted. Without thinking, I took a step toward Katelyn’s room and peered through the doorway. There is no way that I could have imagined what I saw inside. Nothing like that should come out of a human mind.
The entire room was covered by a pitch-black mist. It looked like the inside of an industrial freezer, with vapor drifting off of dry ice in thick, foggy layers, only it wasn’t evaporating ice but something else entirely, something that I can’t even begin to identify. It coated every object in the room, rising up and twisting into delicate misty tendrils, almost like the strings of a spiderweb fluttering in the wind. The fog must have been close to six inches deep on the floor, roiling like a stormy sea and spilling out into the hallway. The side of Katelyn’s door that I hadn’t seen from the hallway was in tatters. The baby-pink paint was peeling away in strips, deep scratches carved into the wood and stained with... I wasn’t entirely sure. It was too dark to tell, but I thought it was a mixture of the fog substance and drying blood. I looked down at my shirt to see that it was covered in rusty red stains. I hadn’t realized that Daisy’s fingers were bleeding. And standing at the back of the room, right in front of the shattered remains of Katelyn’s window, was...
I don’t actually know what it was.
It was tall, shadowy and skeleton-thin, a long, tattered skirt hanging in shambles around its stilt-like legs. Moonlight streamed through the shattered window and lit up the stranger’s long, windswept hair, casting a bright, blood-red glow throughout the room. I could just barely see the details of a human face, only the face wasn’t human at all. The skin was paper-white, stretched over the thing’s skeletal frame like papier mache, with glossy black lips and eyes that seemed clouded over with white smoke.
It was the image from my hallucinations.
It was Isobel.
I backed away from the door, further and further until I hit the opposite wall. My eyes were frozen open, my breath sticking in my throat. I wanted to run, but for some reason my feet felt fused to the floor. I stared at the obscured figure in front of the window. This was my daughter’s imaginary friend? This was what she had been spending all her time with for the past two months? I felt sick. I couldn’t bear the sight of this thing. I don’t know how the hell Katelyn had been able to befriend it.
Suddenly I heard the sound of a tiny voice traveling down the hallway. “Isobel? What were you doing to Mommy?”
My head whipped to the side. Katelyn was tottering towards the end of the hallway, towards her bedroom where the thick, inky fog was beginning to spill past the door frame. I reached my hand out to stop her. “Katelyn, stop!” I commanded. “Don’t go in there!”
‘Why not?” she asked, standing with her head cocked to the side. “Isobel is in there. It’s safe.”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “No, it is not safe. Come on.” I grabbed her tiny hand and started off down the hallway. “We’re getting out of here.”
At that moment, I heard something land at the bottom of the stairs with a dull, sickening thump. Ignoring Katelyn’s soft murmurs of protest, I picked her up and tossed her over my shoulder before bolting to the stairs. I ran down two at a time, reached the landing in the hallway and froze. There was Daisy. She was lying on the floor, clawing at her throat, her eyes glazed and staring blankly at the ceiling. I could hear her gasping for air, her body going into convulsions. I knelt down next to her and clasped my hand over her shoulder. I started shouting her name in her face over and over again. The only response I got was more feverish gasping.
Suddenly Daisy lurched violently to the side, her body flipping itself over in the process. I quickly drew my hand back. Katelyn wriggled free of my grasp and tried to make a break for the stairs. I reached out and grabbed the back of her pajama shirt, shouting out a quick “NO!” in the process. I turned back to Daisy to see that she was going into convulsions again, writhing on the floor like a suffocating fish. Her desperate gasping was cut short by a spell of loud, raspy coughing. Daisy’s spasms grew worse. She coughed a few more times, the sound turning sticky and congested. Suddenly some kind of fluid bubbled up from the back of her throat and splattered on the floor. I stared. It was thick, sticky and dark, almost like watered-down tar. Daisy’s spine arched backwards and she fixed her wide, glassy eyes on me.
“Run,” she croaked, black fog spewing out of her mouth as she spoke.
I didn’t hesitate. I stood up and turned to grab Katelyn, only... only there was no Katelyn to grab. My head spun, looking frantically around before finally settling on the stairs. The mist from Katelyn’s room had covered the hallway carpet and was slowly making its way downstairs. And there was my daughter, scampering towards the mass of coal-black smoke as if it were a waiting playground.
I screamed for her to stop. She didn’t. It was as if she couldn’t hear me anymore. I started towards the stairs, but something wrapped around my ankle and held me in place. I looked down. It was Daisy’s hand.
“Nooo...” she rasped weakly. She coughed. More of the tar-like fluid came up. Now it was spilling out of her mouth and nose. Black spider veins were spreading all over her deathly pale skin. I tried to pull my leg out of her grasp, but her fingers clung to me like cat claws on upholstery. I turned back towards the stairs. Katelyn was halfway up now, her voice drifting into the hallway. She was singing.
“Isobel. Isobel. Come out, come out, wherever you are.”
A tall shadow crept across the shaded walls of the upstairs hallway. The vision... the creature... the thing what was in Katelyn’s room stepped out and began walking towards my daughter in long, unnaturally graceful strides. A beam of moonlight spilled across its face. It was smiling.
Katelyn giggled. She kept climbing. The fog rolled down the stairs and hit the floor. Daisy got lost under the thick layer of mist. I watched as Katelyn ran to the stranger at the top of the stairs and crash into the tattered grey brocade of Isobel’s skirt. I didn’t tell her to come back. I knew she wouldn’t listen. Isobel fixed her clouded white eyes on me. She took a step towards the stairs, the black smog rolling along at her feet.
Daisy’s death grip on my ankle went slack.
Without a second thought, I ran for the door and bolted out of the house.
May 11, 2011; 11:17 PM
That’s all I remember. After that, I ran to the police and tried to explain what happened. They didn’t exactly believe what I was telling them, but they still sent a few officers over to investigate. All they found was an empty house, one door with peeling paint and bloodstains, a shattered window, and a dead woman. Daisy. There was no mist, no black tar, no strange figures wandering around.... and no Katelyn. I haven’t seen my little girl since that night.
Of course, the police began questioning me immediately. I told them my side of the story, but none of them believed me. The forensics department examined Daisy, but there was no residue of the smog or strange black fluid that I could have sworn I saw her coughing up. According to them, Daisy’s body had spontaneously stopped absorbing oxygen. They might not believe me, but I know what I saw. That mist and the sludge, it drowned her or poisoned her or did something to her that I can’t even begin to explain.
I have no idea where my sweet little Katelyn could possibly be. My best guess is with Isobel, but where she could possibly have taken her I can’t even begin to figure out. I only hope that she’s safe. But judging by what happened to Daisy, I don’t know how likely that is.
I’ve been living in the psychiatric ward of the local hospital for the past week and a half. I’m currently undergoing a thorough analysis of my mental state. I knew it was going to happen eventually. My last resort is simply to deny that I saw anything supernatural happen that night and let the police work this out on their own. Hopefully they’ll be releasing me soon. I don’t think I could go back home, though. I never want to set foot in that house again.
It’s getting late. Lights out was almost an hour ago, and I should probably get some rest. I hope I fall asleep faster than I have been the past few nights. I’ve been seeing shadows outside my window lately.
I’m starting this diary first and foremost because no one believes me.
I decided last night that I would start keeping a log of recent events that have been going on with my family. A few weeks ago, my six-year-old daughter, Katelyn, invented a new imaginary friend. My wife and I thought that this was all completely normal. As it is, Katelyn is an introverted and somewhat lonely child. She doesn’t have many friends in her school, and it would only make sense that she would make up one of her own. I’ve asked my wife about this situation several times, being that I didn’t want Katelyn to start ignoring the real people in her life or to become more committed to making imaginary friends than real ones. Daisy told me to simply leave the situation alone, and if it began to go out of control, she would stop it. I should mention that Daisy is my wife’s name.
Sure enough, about three weeks later, things began getting strange.
The first incident was when Katelyn came home from school alone. Normally, Daisy works part-time at a thrift store in town. Her shift ends at two, after which she walks to the district elementary school and picks Katelyn up. Katelyn knows that she is supposed to wait until Daisy shows up. Neither of us want our little girl traveling alone.
That day, by the time Daisy arrived at the school, Katelyn was already gone. She spent about half an hour walking around the school, asking teachers and office employees where Katelyn had gone. They claimed that none of them had seen her, that she had simply walked off of the school property a few minutes after the bell rang.
Panicking, my wife ran back to our house. Sure enough, Katelyn was there waiting for her. Daisy was angry, but managed to control herself and calmly asked our daughter why she went home alone. Her response?
“Isobel told me it would be okay.”
Katelyn claimed that her imaginary friend had walked home with her. She said that she wasn’t alone at all, and that her friend, whose name she claims to be Isobel, would keep her safe on her way. I arrived home shortly after. Daisy told me everything that had happened and told me to try and reason with our daughter. I told her that since she had come home safe today and didn’t break any safety rules (ie. she didn’t talk to any strangers, didn’t cross the road without looking, didn’t stop anywhere before she came home) we would let her off with a warning this time. She told me that Isobel had kept her safe, so if she ever had to do this again, Isobel would probably be there to keep her safe as well. It was just like my wife had told me.
So, naturally, I told her to let Isobel know.
April 3, 2011; 3:26 PM
The second incident was about two weeks later. Once again, Katelyn had walked home alone. My wife was once again thrown into a state of panic and ran home, only to find Katelyn sitting at the kitchen table, calmly reading a book and picking at some kind of pastry. My wife reined in her fury for the second time that month and asked Katelyn what she had told her the last time she had walked home alone. Katelyn replied:
“It’s just like last time. Isobel said it would be okay. She walked me home and when we got here, she made me this.” She pointed at the pastry. My wife asked where she had gotten it. Katelyn repeated her last explanation, claiming Isobel had made it and that it was called a scone.
April 4, 2011; 2:53 PM
The third incident, and probably the most disconcerting so far, occurred only a week and a half ago. The family was at home, it was late, and Daisy and I were readying ourselves to go to sleep. We’d put Katelyn to bed some two hours earlier, so both of us were sure that she was asleep by now. We headed upstairs to our bedroom only to hear whispering while passing by Katelyn’s door, which was swung slightly ajar into the hallway.
Daisy stopped in front of our daughter’s room. She pried the door open another inch and peeked inside. “Katelyn, honey, what are you doing?” she asked.
I couldn’t understand our daughter’s answer. It sounded as if she’d buried herself under her stuffed animals again. I swung the door open and, sure enough, that was exactly what she had done. I walked in and took a few off the top of the pile, revealing my daughter’s sleepy face. I asked her what she was doing up so late at night.
“I couldn’t sleep. Isobel was telling me a bedtime story.”
At the mention of her imaginary friend’s name, Daisy turned away and disappeared into our bedroom. I sat down on Katelyn’s bed and unearthed her from the pile of stuffed animals, then tucked her back under her covers and said goodnight for the second time. I left her room after that, sure that she would fall asleep soon enough.
Later on, I woke up to hear the whispering again. It didn’t stop until it was almost midnight.
April 6, 2011; 12:14 PM
My last entry was the last we heard of Isobel so far. Another incident just happened last night.
It was similar to the last one, in that it happened after Katelyn had gone to bed. Daisy and I had been trying to get some sleep at the time as well.
I awakened to hear footsteps in the hallway. Thinking that Katelyn was sleepwalking, as I have occasionally seen her do, I got out of bed to go find her and put her back in her room before she hurt herself. I looked around the second floor first, since she normally doesn’t stray too far from her room in her sleep. I heard a faint clattering in the kitchen downstairs. I ran down to see if Katelyn was there. Sure enough, she was.
My daughter was sitting at the table, drowsy but fully awake, and holding a steaming mug of sweet-smelling tea.
I walked into the kitchen and asked Katelyn what she was doing down there in the middle of the night. She claimed that, once again, she hadn’t been able to sleep, and not even another story from Isobel could calm her down. So her imaginary friend had taken her downstairs and made her a cup of tea that she claimed would put her to sleep right away. I looked into her cup. The liquid was warm, a transparent amber color, and had a rich, sugary smell coming off of it. I asked her what kind it was. She said it was chamomile with honey.
I’m still perplexed by this entire scenario. I don’t know how she had gotten it into her head to come downstairs and make tea to put herself to sleep. What confused me even more was the fact that she had managed to boil water when she didn’t even know how to work the stove.
April 9, 2011; 3:41 PM
Another incident with Isobel has happened. The strange part with this one in particular is its proximity to the last occurrence. With the last few, we had at least a week in between. Let’s hope that this doesn’t turn into a pattern.
Katelyn once again walked home from school today. My wife didn’t even bother with trying to control her anger this time. She gave Katelyn a half-hour-long lecture, reminding her over and over of all the things that could have happened. Our daughter only replied that no, none of those things would happen as long as she had Isobel to walk with her. My wife shouted that Isobel is not real and that an imaginary person won’t be any help if Katelyn were to get abducted by some stranger and held for ransom. Katelyn, of course, denied all of this, then shut herself in her room and refused to come down for dinner. That was the punishment Daisy was planning on giving her anyway.
I passed by Katelyn’s room while on my way back. I heard the same whispering that I had heard in the third incident. This time Katelyn’s voice was mixed in.
“My mommy and daddy said that you’re not real.”
I heard the whispering in between my daughter’s words.
“Mommy said I can’t walk home with you anymore. She thinks I’m going by myself and that something is going to happen to me if I keep doing it.”
It took me a while to realize that there were two distinct voices in the room.
“I know. You told me already, but they don’t believe it.”
I still couldn’t make out what the other voice was saying.
“Okay. But we can’t walk home anymore. I’m going to get in trouble. Okay?”
I opened the door. Katelyn was sitting on her bed, completely alone.
April 12, 2011; 3:11 PM
I think I’m starting to have hallucinations.
Last night, at about 7:30, I was downstairs in the living room watching a movie with Daisy and Katelyn. Of course, Isobel had come too. Katelyn spends nearly all of her time with Isobel.
I don’t know what it was that I was seeing. Maybe there was something in front of the screen, or I missed something in the movie that would have made me see what I did. But I could have sworn that there was a shadow being cast right next to where Katelyn was sitting.
April 15, 2011; 3:21 PM
Daisy and I got into a fight last night.
It wasn’t anything major. Just a little argument. Every couple has one at one time or another. It was over Katelyn’s odd obsession with her imaginary friend. Daisy is beginning to believe that Katelyn has some kind of mental disorder and needs to be sent to a psychiatrist. I told her she was overreacting and that Isobel hasn’t taken priority in Katelyn’s life. Our daughter still goes to school, still talks to her teachers, and Isobel hasn’t gotten in the way of her having a normal life. I told Daisy to just wait it out and that Katelyn would get over Isobel once she started making other friends. My wife agreed with me and finally began to calm down.
Of course, the fight still got Katelyn upset.
At some point, Katelyn, who had been downstairs playing her Kirby game in the living room, had heard us shouting and ran upstairs. I found her in her bedroom, buried under her stuffed animals for the third time this month with a blanket wrapped tightly around her shoulders. I came in, dug her out of the plush pile and asked what was wrong. She asked, “Are you and Mommy going to get a divorce?” I told her no, and she responded, “Good. Isobel hopes you won’t.”
I found this comment a little personal to be coming from an imaginary friend. Without thinking, I asked Katelyn what business Isobel had in mine and Daisy’s personal life. Katelyn stared at me for a while, as if I’d been speaking in another language. Then she said, “Isobel just wants me to be happy. And I don’t want you and Mommy to divorce.”
I decided to leave it at that. I left Katelyn alone to sort things out herself. Daisy came in and apologized later. When she came into our room a few minutes later, she seemed a little worried. I asked her what was wrong. This was what she told me.
“Katelyn said that Isobel threatened me.”
Apparently, Katelyn’s imaginary friend told her that if Daisy ever did anything to get her upset again, she would make something bad happen. Daisy had asked her what that something would be. Katelyn had refused to answer. I asked her what Katelyn could possibly have been talking about. Daisy said she didn’t know. My wife is a good woman who has never laid a hand on our daughter and never will. We found it odd that Isobel would make such a jarring accusation. The both of us had a hard time falling asleep.
One more thing. I heard the whispering again that night.
April 17, 2011; 4:21 PM
I asked Katelyn a few questions about Isobel yesterday.
I decided to start things off by asking her what Isobel looks like. I figured that it wouldn’t be too hard a question to answer. As it turned out, Isobel’s description was a lot more difficult to get out of Katelyn than I would have expected. The first part of the conversation went something like this.
“Is Isobel a person?”
“Of course Isobel is a person.”
“So she’s just a normal person? I know you like fairy tales and things like that, don’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“So Isobel’s not a fairy or a witch or a mermaid or anything?”
A pause from Katelyn. “I don’t know.”
“So what does Isobel look like? Is she tall or short?”
“Yeah. She’s tall. Really, really tall.”
“Okay. Is she old or young?”
Another pause from Katelyn. “Old or young?”
“Yeah. Is she old, like Grandma? Or young, like you?”
It took a while for her to answer. “Well, it’s kind of hard to say. I guess she’s young.”
“Like you?”
“No, like Mommy.”
“So she’s a young lady?”
“Yeah. But she’s not really young.”
“What do you mean?”
Another pause. “Well, she looks young, but she’s actually really old.”
“How old is she?”
“Really, really old. She said she’s even older than Grandma. She’s like a hundred or something.”
“Wow. That’s cool. How does she do that?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is Isobel skinny or fat?”
“She’s skinny. Really, really skinny.”
“Like those girls in the magazines cousin Jenna gets?”
“No. She’s skinnier. A lot skinnier.”
“How skinny is she?”
Katelyn held up her hand, her thumb and forefinger a few inches apart. “Like that.”
“Wow. She’s very skinny.”
“Yeah, she is.”
“Is Isobel pretty?”
Katelyn looked up at me as if she were confused, so I rephrased the question. “Is she pretty or ugly?”
Now Katelyn seemed offended. “Isobel is pretty. She’s really pretty.”
“Oh. Okay. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t call her ugly.”
“What about her hair?”
“It’s red. And really long.”
“And her eyes?”
“White.”
“White like my eyes or-”
“No, they’re just white.”
“What does Isobel wear?”
“It changes sometimes.”
“Well, what does she usually wear?”
“Dresses. She wears these really pretty princess dresses. She makes them herself.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. She said she wants to make one for me.”
“Did she say when she’ll make it?”
“No. But she will.”
“Is Isobel a princess?”
“I already told you, I don’t know.”
I decided to try and find out a little more. If this Isobel character was spending so much time with my daughter, I figured I may as well find out whether or not she’s a good person.
“What does Isobel do?”
“I don’t know.”
“You said she’s not a princess. Does she have another job?”
“I think so.”
“Did she tell you what it is?”
“No.”
“What is Isobel like?”
“Well she’s really nice. She makes me tea sometimes. She walked home from school with me for a while. And she likes to talk about all kinds of things. She likes fairies and monsters and ghosts and all the kinds of things I like.”
“So that’s what you guys talk about so much, huh?”
“Usually. And Isobel’s voice sounds kind of funny, too.”
“Really? What does it sound like?”
Katelyn proceeded to say “It sounds kind of like this” in an overplayed British accent.
“Is Isobel from England?”
“I don’t know where Isobel’s from.”
“Then how did you meet her?”
“She came into my room one night. She climbed in through the window.”
I found the last comment a little disquieting. I wasn’t sure how much longer I wanted this conversation to continue. I decided on one last question to ask before I let Katelyn be.
“Why did Isobel say those mean things about Mommy?”
Katelyn never gave me an answer.
April 22, 2011; 3:52 PM
When I came downstairs this morning, Katelyn had a cup of tea.
I didn’t know how she’d gotten it. As I’ve mentioned before, she’s six years old and doesn’t know how our stove works. Daisy was still in bed. She couldn’t possibly have made it. When I asked Katelyn where she had gotten her tea from, she told me the same thing that she’d been telling me the last few times this has happened. “Isobel made it for me.”
April 22, 2011; 4:12 PM
I just got a call from Daisy. She said Katelyn got in trouble at school. I’d better get home and see what this is about.
April 22, 2011; 7:43 PM
This is probably the first instance that I’ve had to make on of these journal entries at home. I just want to get this written down while the details are fresh in my mind.
Daisy is getting more and more distressed over this whole “Isobel” shenanigan. At first, I thought she was overreacting. This wouldn’t be the first time it had happened. But now I’m getting worried, too. For the first time in my life, I’ve found reason to be actually concerned for my daughter’s mental health.
I should probably explain why before I go any further.
When I made my entry at 4:12 today, Daisy had just called to tell me that Katelyn was in trouble. I arrived home around 6 PM to see Daisy in the kitchen getting dinner started and Katelyn curled up on the couch, her hear slouched forward and her hair hanging in her face. I asked Daisy what had happened, but she refused to tell me and insisted I ask Katelyn myself. I carefully approached my daughter and said hello. She looked up at the sound of my voice. Her hair fell sideways like it normally does, revealing a huge bruise on the side of her face.
Words can not express the shock I felt. I immediately asked her what happened.
“The boys at school started hitting me, but Isobel stopped them.”
I asked her who these boys were. She claimed that she didn’t know all of their names, but that none of them were her friends. She told me that she was just sitting on the playground during recess drawing pictures for Isobel with the chalk when they approached her and asked what she was doing. She told them that she was drawing with Isobel, and they immediately started laughing and calling her names. She got upset and started yelling back. One of the boys kicked her in the shin as a response, then the others proceeded to join in. She said that Isobel got angry and started pulling the boys away and hitting them herself. One of them apparently was beaten so roughly that he was knocked unconscious. By the time a teacher finally noticed the commotion and intervened, every single one of the boys had begun crying. All of them were pointing fingers at Katelyn, claiming they were just talking and she started hitting them for no reason. It was five witnesses’ testimony against one, so, naturally, Katelyn was the one who got in trouble.
“They think that I was the one hitting them,” she said. “But I didn’t do anything. They started it. And then Isobel made them stop.”
Daisy finished preparing dinner and sent Katelyn upstairs to eat by herself. We talked about that day’s major malfunction while she was gone. Daisy was definitely angry at Katelyn for getting herself in trouble, but she was even angrier with the school system and the fact that they’d done nothing to stop the bullying. As I’ve mentioned before, Katelyn is an introverted child. She always keeps to herself when given the choice, and normally other children will leave her alone. However, this wasn’t the first occasion where she had been bullied.
What had upset Daisy the most was the possibility that Katelyn’s “friendship” may be festering out of control. Both of us realize that Isobel is an imaginary character. There is no way that what Katelyn had told us could be true. However, I have never known Katelyn to react violently to bullying of any sort. I highly doubt that she could have taken down five boys singlehandedly.
But if Katelyn isn’t the one who had done this, then who is?
April 23, 2011; 3:12 AM
I just woke up about 20 minutes ago with a migraine. I want to write this down before I forget.
I left my bedroom for a few minutes to run down to the kitchen for some tylenol. When I returned, I thought I saw someone walking around in the upstairs hallway. However, when I got there myself, I saw nothing of the sort. It had looked like the silhouette of a woman from where I had been standing in the living room below. My first thought was that I had woken Daisy up and she was wondering what all the commotion was about. When I returned to our room, she was lying in bed and hadn’t moved an inch since I left. I was too tired to try and figure things out, so I decided to try and get back to sleep.
Before I had even gotten under the covers, something passed by in front of my bedroom door.
I can’t be entirely sure what it was. The door wasn’t open, only slightly ajar. I could only see a tiny piece of the silhouette at a time. I couldn’t figure out what it was, but I wasn’t entirely sure that it was human. It was certainly tall. At one point, the shadow had filled the entire gap between the door and doorway. It passed by quickly, and I didn’t get much detail out of the vision other than the shadow. I opened my laptop to add this entry immediately afterwards.
Daisy just woke up. I’ll be heading back to bed now.
April 25, 2011; 4:13 PM
Katelyn has started speaking strangely.
I woke up this morning and found her downstairs with a cup of tea again. I didn’t even bother asking where she’d gotten it from. I already knew that the answer was “Isobel.”
She looked up at me and smiled. “Good morning, daddy,” she said.
Her British accent was flawless.
After a quick and shock-ridden “good morning” from me, I asked her where she’d learned to talk that way. She said she’d been learning from Isobel. She liked how she talks. She thought it made her sound more fancy. I thought this was funny and decided to play along, talking in the best Brit accent I could manage. It came nowhere near as naturally as Katelyn’s did.
We both stopped and returned our voices to normal when we heard Daisy coming downstairs. I didn’t realize how truly disconcerting all this was until now. It makes me wonder what this “Isobel” person is like. Maybe I should ask Katelyn a little more about her sometime. She’s already started influencing how my daughter talks, apparently. I just hope that if she influences her in any other way, it’s in a good one.
My phone is ringing. I’ll finish this entry later.
April 25, 2011; 6:52 PM
Katelyn got in trouble at school again.
Daisy had already sent Katelyn up to her room by the time I got home today. She proceeded to launch directly into a ranting story about our daughter’s latest escapades.
“I’m seriously thinking about getting her a psychiatrist,” she told me. “This Isobel thing is going too far.”
Judging by all that had gone on today, I think I may be starting to agree with her.
Katelyn ended up getting another child hurt today. This time it was a girl. Her name was Mia. I’ve hear a lot of things about her from Katelyn. She’s victimized her before. Now that Isobel had come into play, Mia had all the more reason to be bullying Katelyn.
It was almost exactly the same scenario as last time. Mia went up to Katelyn unannounced, Mia started calling her names, Katelyn got upset, Mia wound up getting hurt. Daisy told me that the girl ended up with a severe concussion and had to be sent to the hospital. And, once again, Katelyn had claimed that Isobel had done it.
April 28, 2011; 8:41 PM
If I thought I was having hallucinations before, I know for sure that I am having them now.
I haven’t mentioned these occurrences in the journal entries yet because they always happen late at night when I’m too worn out to bother writing about them and I always forget by the next morning. This last one, however, was unusually concrete. I may as well bring up a few of my earlier experiences while I’m at it.
The first few hallucinations I’d had weren’t all that serious. Normally I would just see a shadow here or there where it shouldn’t be, or maybe a silhouette moving around in an empty room. Gradually they worsened. I’d actually had several experiences like the one in my April 23 entry, all at varying times of the night and in various places. I always seem to envision the same thing. I see a tall, humanoid figure either wearing a hooded cloak or with extremely long hair. Usually the lower half is relatively shapeless, but once or twice I thought I had seen legs. Its silhouette is extremely thin, coming close to skeletal, with a very small, wasp-like waist, similar to what would be created by a corset. I have never seen anything with much more detail than that. At least I hadn’t until just a few minutes ago. I wanted to enter this in my journal before I forgot.
I was putting away dishes after dinner while Daisy was upstairs putting Katelyn to bed. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a brief flash of red in the living room. I looked up and turned towards the doorway, but saw nothing. Pushing the vision into the back of my mind, I continued clearing out the dishwasher. I saw it again just a few moments later, this time accompanied by the faintest rustle of fabric. I looked up again, but once again the doorway was empty. I quickly went back to the task at hand, telling myself over and over that it was nothing, I was probably tired, it was just my imagination, etc. The third time I saw the faint flash of red, I forced myself to keep working at the dishwasher. Instead of standing upright, I strained my eyes sideways to look at the figure in the doorway.
I don’t know exactly what to call whatever it was that I saw. In a basic sense, it appeared to be human. But it was not, by any stretch of the imagination. From my position, I could only see it from the chest down. The vision was exceedingly tall, its waist at around the same level on the doorway that my shoulder normally is. I managed to pick out a pair of pale, skeletal arms on either side of its body, which was stick-thin at the waist. The vision appeared to be wearing a victorian dress, complete with a whalebone corset, embroidered in varying shades of black and dark grey. And, if I’m not mistaken, it had hair. Long, blood-red hair that swept all the way down to its hips.
I blinked once, and it was gone.
I’ve done a minimal amount of internet searching between that point and now. I haven’t been able to find anything to give a name to whatever this mysterious creature was. All things considered, it was probably another hallucination. I’m thinking I should probably be seeing a psychiatrist at this point.
April 28, 2011; 9:02 PM
I just remembered my questionnaire with Katelyn. My hallucination looked exactly like Isobel.
April 30, 2011; 4:56 PM
Daisy took Katelyn to see a child therapist today. According to her, there is absolutely nothing wrong with our daughter. She said that for children like Katelyn, who have a quiet personality and tend not to go out of their way to interact with others, occasionally make up friends of their own. Blaming her imaginary friend for her own mistakes were also common in children of her kind. This imagination can go to various extents, but in most cases it wears off over time. In Katelyn’s case, the imaginary aspect hadn’t progressed to the point where she began ignoring the real people in her life. She told us not to worry too much about it.
Of course, I never told her about the hallucinations. But then again, that would involve seeing an adult psychiatrist, wouldn’t it?
May 2, 2011; 3:12 PM
I don’t know whether I said this before or not, but I’m going to admit this right here and now. This Isobel situation is getting out of hand.
I don’t know what is happening to my daughter. She’s started speaking in a British accident. I hardly ever catch her slipping out of it anymore. She has started waking up half an hour before either Daisy or I ever do and making herself tea with the stove that she still doesn’t know how to use. Or, moreover, Isobel makes her tea. At least that’s what she always says. She has walked home alone from school three times this week. Daisy has stopped bothering to go after her about it. Every day she comes home to see our daughter doing her homework with a cup of tea and plate of small pastries on hand. I don’t know where any of it’s coming from. It’s as if we’d hired an invisible maidservant. Daisy is begging me to send her to the psychiatrist again, but I’m afraid we’ll get the same result as we did before, or worse, be given an appointment ourselves.
I’m not entirely sure that I would mind all that much anymore.
The hallucinations have only gotten worse. I hear the whispering coming from Katelyn’s room almost every night now. I’ve even understood it a few times. I thought I heard the strange voice mention Daisy’s name once. I don’t know what my wife has to do with anything, though. It’s been keeping me up at night. That, of course, only makes matters worse. Night is the time when I start seeing things wandering around the house. I swear, that tall, skinny shadow is haunting my dreams. And that’s not all I’ve seen. Every now and again, they become clearer. That night in front of the dishwasher has repeated itself more times and in more places than I’d like to admit.
I don’t know what any of it means. And honestly, I’m afraid to find out.
May 5, 2011; 12:12 AM
There are strange noises coming from Katelyn’s room. Daisy was gone when I woke up a few minutes ago. I’m going to investigate.
May 11, 2011; 5:34 PM
I haven’t had access to my laptop in nearly a week. I would have made this entry earlier, but all the police work has been taking up a lot of my time.
Daisy, my wife who I’ve been married to for 8 years, is dead. And Katelyn is missing.
I’ve told the police how it all happened. None of them believe me. This journal is the only place I can think to document this while the details are still fresh in my mind where no one will call me crazy or make any accusations. At least the police don’t suspect me of murdering Daisy. At least I have that much.
The night of May 5, I woke up at around midnight after only an hour of sleep. I was hearing an extraordinary amount of whispering going on in Katelyn’s room. Of course, hearing the whispers at night was nothing out of the ordinary at that point, but something just seemed a little off about it. A moment later, I noticed that Daisy wasn’t in bed with me.
I remembered hearing the strange voice in Katelyn’s room mention Daisy’s name once or twice before. I was struck with worry and immediately climbed out of bed and went out into the hallway to investigate. The door of Katelyn’s room was shut, which was definitely out of the ordinary, being that our daughter is afraid of the dark. I tried to open it, but the knob wouldn’t turn. My daughter didn’t have a lock on her bedroom door, and I wondered if it somehow was broken. Somewhere behind the door, I heard the few faint, scattered noises. It was difficult to point out anything in particular, but I thought that I heard something like scratching and heavy breathing. I stopped fiddling with the doorknob and listened. There was definitely something behind the door. Suddenly the breathing turned into a series of stifled, high-pitched cries. Something slammed into the door from the other side. I jumped back, startled, when I heard a voice behind me.
“Daddy?”
I whirled around to see Katelyn standing behind me, dressed in her little strawberry nightgown. Trying my hardest to feign a calm demeanor, I knelt down next to her and asked, “Katelyn, what is going on in your room?”
She shrugged and replied, “I don’t know.”
“Do you know where those noises are coming from?” I asked.
“No.” And a minute later, “Isobel told me not to go in there.”
Isobel. There was that name again.
“Katelyn, honey, is Isobel the one making those noises in there?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” It was unsettling, how calm she was about all of this.
“Did she tell you why you couldn’t go into your room?”
“No, she just told me I couldn’t.”
My nerves were on edge at this point. The noises in Katelyn’s room were growing louder. The thing inside hit the door again. I could definitely hear a desperate scratching now. I told Katelyn to stay put and returned to her bedroom door. My hands shaking, I reached hesitantly for the knob, not sure if it was still stuck or if it would turn this time, fully prepared for something to come bursting through the door and run me over...
The knob twisted and the door slammed open. Daisy came spilling out, gasping for air.
I stood, frozen for a moment, staring down at my suffocating wife before kneeling down next to her. “Daisy! Daisy are you alright?”
She blinked for a second, staring up at me, her eyes looking as though they were made of glass and struggling to catch her breath. Her hands shot out and fastened around the front of my shirt.
“We have to run,” she gasped. “We have to get out of here. Now.”
“Now?” I said, confused. “Why?” I looked up at the dark, gaping doorway of Katelyn’s bedroom. “What was going on in Katelyn’s room?”
Daisy didn’t answer, only clawed at my shoulders and staggered to her feet. “Isobel,” she murmured. “It’s Isobel. Run.”
“Isobel? Daisy, not you too!”
Daisy grabbed my shirt again, locking her eyes on mine. I’ve never seen her look more terrified in my life. “No,” she said. “No. It’s Isobel. She’s real.” Daisy let go of me and staggered back a step. “She’s real!” Her voice was wearing down to a gritty rasp.
“Isobel is...” I started to say something, but never finished. I turned back towards Katelyn’s room. At first I thought it was only the lack of light that was creating the inky blackness inside. But when I looked back, something was different. Something was wrong. It was almost as if the darkness had... shifted. Without thinking, I took a step toward Katelyn’s room and peered through the doorway. There is no way that I could have imagined what I saw inside. Nothing like that should come out of a human mind.
The entire room was covered by a pitch-black mist. It looked like the inside of an industrial freezer, with vapor drifting off of dry ice in thick, foggy layers, only it wasn’t evaporating ice but something else entirely, something that I can’t even begin to identify. It coated every object in the room, rising up and twisting into delicate misty tendrils, almost like the strings of a spiderweb fluttering in the wind. The fog must have been close to six inches deep on the floor, roiling like a stormy sea and spilling out into the hallway. The side of Katelyn’s door that I hadn’t seen from the hallway was in tatters. The baby-pink paint was peeling away in strips, deep scratches carved into the wood and stained with... I wasn’t entirely sure. It was too dark to tell, but I thought it was a mixture of the fog substance and drying blood. I looked down at my shirt to see that it was covered in rusty red stains. I hadn’t realized that Daisy’s fingers were bleeding. And standing at the back of the room, right in front of the shattered remains of Katelyn’s window, was...
I don’t actually know what it was.
It was tall, shadowy and skeleton-thin, a long, tattered skirt hanging in shambles around its stilt-like legs. Moonlight streamed through the shattered window and lit up the stranger’s long, windswept hair, casting a bright, blood-red glow throughout the room. I could just barely see the details of a human face, only the face wasn’t human at all. The skin was paper-white, stretched over the thing’s skeletal frame like papier mache, with glossy black lips and eyes that seemed clouded over with white smoke.
It was the image from my hallucinations.
It was Isobel.
I backed away from the door, further and further until I hit the opposite wall. My eyes were frozen open, my breath sticking in my throat. I wanted to run, but for some reason my feet felt fused to the floor. I stared at the obscured figure in front of the window. This was my daughter’s imaginary friend? This was what she had been spending all her time with for the past two months? I felt sick. I couldn’t bear the sight of this thing. I don’t know how the hell Katelyn had been able to befriend it.
Suddenly I heard the sound of a tiny voice traveling down the hallway. “Isobel? What were you doing to Mommy?”
My head whipped to the side. Katelyn was tottering towards the end of the hallway, towards her bedroom where the thick, inky fog was beginning to spill past the door frame. I reached my hand out to stop her. “Katelyn, stop!” I commanded. “Don’t go in there!”
‘Why not?” she asked, standing with her head cocked to the side. “Isobel is in there. It’s safe.”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “No, it is not safe. Come on.” I grabbed her tiny hand and started off down the hallway. “We’re getting out of here.”
At that moment, I heard something land at the bottom of the stairs with a dull, sickening thump. Ignoring Katelyn’s soft murmurs of protest, I picked her up and tossed her over my shoulder before bolting to the stairs. I ran down two at a time, reached the landing in the hallway and froze. There was Daisy. She was lying on the floor, clawing at her throat, her eyes glazed and staring blankly at the ceiling. I could hear her gasping for air, her body going into convulsions. I knelt down next to her and clasped my hand over her shoulder. I started shouting her name in her face over and over again. The only response I got was more feverish gasping.
Suddenly Daisy lurched violently to the side, her body flipping itself over in the process. I quickly drew my hand back. Katelyn wriggled free of my grasp and tried to make a break for the stairs. I reached out and grabbed the back of her pajama shirt, shouting out a quick “NO!” in the process. I turned back to Daisy to see that she was going into convulsions again, writhing on the floor like a suffocating fish. Her desperate gasping was cut short by a spell of loud, raspy coughing. Daisy’s spasms grew worse. She coughed a few more times, the sound turning sticky and congested. Suddenly some kind of fluid bubbled up from the back of her throat and splattered on the floor. I stared. It was thick, sticky and dark, almost like watered-down tar. Daisy’s spine arched backwards and she fixed her wide, glassy eyes on me.
“Run,” she croaked, black fog spewing out of her mouth as she spoke.
I didn’t hesitate. I stood up and turned to grab Katelyn, only... only there was no Katelyn to grab. My head spun, looking frantically around before finally settling on the stairs. The mist from Katelyn’s room had covered the hallway carpet and was slowly making its way downstairs. And there was my daughter, scampering towards the mass of coal-black smoke as if it were a waiting playground.
I screamed for her to stop. She didn’t. It was as if she couldn’t hear me anymore. I started towards the stairs, but something wrapped around my ankle and held me in place. I looked down. It was Daisy’s hand.
“Nooo...” she rasped weakly. She coughed. More of the tar-like fluid came up. Now it was spilling out of her mouth and nose. Black spider veins were spreading all over her deathly pale skin. I tried to pull my leg out of her grasp, but her fingers clung to me like cat claws on upholstery. I turned back towards the stairs. Katelyn was halfway up now, her voice drifting into the hallway. She was singing.
“Isobel. Isobel. Come out, come out, wherever you are.”
A tall shadow crept across the shaded walls of the upstairs hallway. The vision... the creature... the thing what was in Katelyn’s room stepped out and began walking towards my daughter in long, unnaturally graceful strides. A beam of moonlight spilled across its face. It was smiling.
Katelyn giggled. She kept climbing. The fog rolled down the stairs and hit the floor. Daisy got lost under the thick layer of mist. I watched as Katelyn ran to the stranger at the top of the stairs and crash into the tattered grey brocade of Isobel’s skirt. I didn’t tell her to come back. I knew she wouldn’t listen. Isobel fixed her clouded white eyes on me. She took a step towards the stairs, the black smog rolling along at her feet.
Daisy’s death grip on my ankle went slack.
Without a second thought, I ran for the door and bolted out of the house.
May 11, 2011; 11:17 PM
That’s all I remember. After that, I ran to the police and tried to explain what happened. They didn’t exactly believe what I was telling them, but they still sent a few officers over to investigate. All they found was an empty house, one door with peeling paint and bloodstains, a shattered window, and a dead woman. Daisy. There was no mist, no black tar, no strange figures wandering around.... and no Katelyn. I haven’t seen my little girl since that night.
Of course, the police began questioning me immediately. I told them my side of the story, but none of them believed me. The forensics department examined Daisy, but there was no residue of the smog or strange black fluid that I could have sworn I saw her coughing up. According to them, Daisy’s body had spontaneously stopped absorbing oxygen. They might not believe me, but I know what I saw. That mist and the sludge, it drowned her or poisoned her or did something to her that I can’t even begin to explain.
I have no idea where my sweet little Katelyn could possibly be. My best guess is with Isobel, but where she could possibly have taken her I can’t even begin to figure out. I only hope that she’s safe. But judging by what happened to Daisy, I don’t know how likely that is.
I’ve been living in the psychiatric ward of the local hospital for the past week and a half. I’m currently undergoing a thorough analysis of my mental state. I knew it was going to happen eventually. My last resort is simply to deny that I saw anything supernatural happen that night and let the police work this out on their own. Hopefully they’ll be releasing me soon. I don’t think I could go back home, though. I never want to set foot in that house again.
It’s getting late. Lights out was almost an hour ago, and I should probably get some rest. I hope I fall asleep faster than I have been the past few nights. I’ve been seeing shadows outside my window lately.
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a creepypasta that I wrote close to 4 months ago. hope you enjoy it.
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