Real epidemic or a sick joke?

Reports of clowns haunting more than 10 states have people on edge. Yes, 10. And, the reports keep coming.

So, is the creepy clown epidemic serious or just a sick joke? Police are investigating a host of reports from South Carolina to Georgia, but haven’t arrested any criminals — yet.

Daydreams of a family man.

I don’t know if I’m the only one who does this, but I often fantasize about how I would react in terrible situations.

It’s something I’ve done all my life; typically, the situations involved friends or family being in danger. However, the daydreams have become far more frequent since I became a father. It seems to have awoke the protective instinct in me with a vengeance.

These imaginary situations range from my daughter being kidnapped, to her falling on a train track, to encountering a bear on our family camping trip. Sometimes, I get myself so worked up thinking about it that I’ll find my heart pounding and my hands clenching, and I actually have to force myself to calm down.

My fantasies, though diverse, all end the same: I protect my family at any cost, and I make whatever wants to hurt them pay.

In reality, I know these ridiculous, over the top scenarios that couldn’t be more unlikely for an average, middle-aged pencil pusher like me to actually encounter. Furthermore, while I know I would gladly die for my wife and my little daughter, I know it’s highly unlikely my actions in a crisis situation would be very impressive. More likely they would involve a lot of cowering, screaming, and pissing my pants.

Yes, I always knew those daydreams were foolish. What I didn’t realize, until today, however, was how simplistic they were. I always faced the ‘bad guys’, destroyed the threat (or perished trying), and protected my family. Life is rarely so straightforward.

I should know.

Because today, I ran out the door in a rush after kissing my wife goodbye, my thoughts preoccupied with the busy day ahead of me.

Today, as I backed down the driveway, I looked down for a second to fumble for a paper that had fallen out of my briefcase.

Today, I heard a small cry as my tires went over an unfamiliar bump in the driveway, and my wife started to scream.

Today, I realized how far short the worse things I imagined fell from reality.

Creepypasta #927: My Strangest Case At The Ludlow Sanitarium For Unaccountable Children

Length: Long

My legal name is Natalie Gnoss, but I still use my late husband’s name, Saynt. It suited the kind of man he was. We were married for two glorious days before he vanished without a trace from an island you need a ferry to get on and off of, a ferry that wasn’t running when he went missing. 

Ten days of searching only made me discover how much I would miss Jesse. I thought diving back into work would distract my mind, but the cold, hallow memory of his disappearance stayed with me like one of my daily patients.

I hold a doctoral degree in clinical child psychology and work as a pediatric psychologist at the Ludlow Sanitarium. I specialize in hard to reach cases and cases involving complex thought processes which make up the entirety of the children’s world. I once believed that my work illuminated the dark path of human knowledge. But after all that has happened to me, I believe all I do now is show the world just how vast and cavernous it is.

The cases at Ludlow’s all center around children have no identifiable names, features or faces and match no missing child reports. Most are also deemed “un-adoptable” and require specialized care. At least a dozen families search our selected (a few of the more dangerous children must be held inside The Warm Room during these times, as they have already made several attempts to escape) a week, but nearly all of those families leave empty handed. 

These children were found in places and times that permanently stumped law enforcement and medical staff. Some of them seemed to have been the victims of human trafficking, their minds constantly foggy or disconnected from the bad chemicals their kidnappers put into their bodies in order to make names and faces hard to recollect. Others seem to have been the victims of abuse. Then, there were some cases that were beyond categorization.

Jordan was six when he was found alone on a tiny island in the San Juan, spotted by fisherman off the coast. His skin is slightly gray and he speaks a language that sounds like a mixture of Finnish, Spanish, and Japanese. Aptitude and memory testing yields a genius level status. He also must be restrained 18 hours a day due to his seeming need to bite into any living flesh and eat it. Resident for 4 months.

Mary, we guess ten, was found on the other side of a locked door inside of a tavern after new owners were trying to make a storage room. She was found standing alone in a room of oozing brown oil on every surface, oil which never seemed to stick on her but couldn’t be removed by anyone else, or so the police file says. She has not spoken a word since her discovery in the room. She is kept in isolation. Resident for 1 year.

Jasper, eight, was found walking down a corn road in Pennsylvania. He moves and speaks with odd, jerky motions, as if he has something very important to say or do and then stops himself before he starts, all in a constant loop. I watched Jasper’s hands many times, how his cheese-wheel safety pen shook in grueling, hour-long efforts to write a “T” or a “W”. 

But Jasper communicates in other ways. He reads the newspaper and points out interesting or infuriating lines to me, and smiles when he overhears a joke between staff. His eyes sparkle with desperate, radiant intelligence, longing to speak to the world. Resident for two months.

Jennel was found on roof of a Church in Arkansas at age 2, who pushed and gurgled out near-perfect Tibetan. The sanitarium was able to seek funds from the state for an on-call translator. The translator said that she believed she was the 16th reincarnation Dalai Lama, murdered twice by government officials in the past two years in China. 

Oddly -or aptly, depending on your view- enough, 5 year old Jennel is oddly at peace with remaining here, trying to speak to these children of love and enlightenment. I asked her if she wanted me to write a letter to Tibet, she shook her head and said people need to be free from places as the ideas themselves are. There is something calm and charming about her. She may be resident for life.

And then there was little Victor Ganes.

The local police department brought in another eight year old boy, found talking down strangers from jumping off a bridge in Boston. They boy had no identification, and claimed to have “no affiliations, family or associations”. It was true; the entity of the registered Ganes family had disappeared off the face of the Earth. When authorities asked Victor where he wanted to go, Victor replied: “take me to the Sanitarium.”

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