September 14, 2001

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic

This story is the earliest I can remember of the strange events that have happened to me. *This is the 100% truth of what I can recall.*

Submitted: December 06, 2017

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Submitted: December 06, 2017



September 14, 2001


Even though I was only six years old, I remember this day vividly. Just about as vividly as three days earlier. This isn't about that day though. Not directly. But something about what happened on 9/11, came back in one of my strange experiences a couple years later.

Reminder, this is a true story. *All names have been changed aside from mine*

 I was in class that Tuesday morning. First period was just about over. Math. I was off in my own little world, doodling, not paying attention to whatever we were studying that day. Additon, I think. It didn't matter. I had already been way ahead of the other kids in most subjects. The kid that sat to my left, Jerry, was the known weird kid. Even for a first grader. Since the first day of kindergarten he creeped me out. Nothing changed over the course of a year. But anyway, at 8:46 AM, Jerry quickly turned to me in his chair, causing it to scrape across the floor, and whispered, "Did you feel that?"

I eyed him suspiciously and just shook my head, then I went back to my doodles. I noticed Jerry out of the corner of my eye. He was squirming in his seat and making small whimpering noises. I looked over at him and over to the teacher to see if she was seeing this; she wasn't. I looked back at Jerry. "What's wrong?" I whispered.

He looked at me with wide eyes. "Something bad happened." His voice was louder. Before I could ask what; he got up from his chair, over to me, and grabbed my arm. The second he did, a shock spread throughout my body. A bad feeling swept over me, too. I didn't know the plane crashed into the first tower, but I knew something bad happened. I looked at Jerry in shock. Jerry ran over to the teacher and pulled on her blouse. "Ms. May!" He screeched.

Ms. May looked at Jerry in confusion and sort of gave him a little push away. "What's wrong, Jerry?"

"Something bad." He whimpered out in a loud voice.

"Did someone do something bad?" She asked in a patient voice. Jerry nodded. "Who?"

Jerry had a confused look on his face. "I don't know."

At this point I would assume it was around 8:55, give or take a couple minutes. "Well what did they do?" 

Jerry still wore a confused face. He didn't say anything for a few moments. "I don't know." 

Ms. May sighed, but still looked patient. She was also aware that Jerry was a little different. Looking back on it I'd say he probably had a small mental disability. Ms. May knelt down in front of Jerry and smiled. "Nobody did anything bad, Jerry." Her voice was sweet and soft. "Don't you worry. Now go back to your seat." Jerry turned around and began to slowly walk back to his seat. His face was filling up with more and more panic as the moments went on.

He looked over at me when he sat back down. "You know something bad happened, right?" I simply nodded at him. He sighed slightly and looked down at the table. 

The bell rang at nine and we got up from our seats. We didn't change classrooms, but we did get a five minute break before each class period. I went over to my backpack to search for something, I believe it was my pencil box. I listened to a couple of the other kids whisper about how crazy Jerry was. Once I grabbed it out, the Principal of the school rushed into the room with a terrified look on her face. She went right up to Ms. May and whispered something to her. Ms. May's face filled with horror and she covered her hands over her mouth. 9:02 AM. I looked over at Jerry who hadn't moved from his seat. He was becoming increasingly more agitated. I could see he was shaking from where I was standing. I looked back over at Ms. May and the Principal to see that they were still talking in hushed tones with horrified looks on their faces.

And then; Jerry started screaming. And I mean screaming at the top of his lungs. And it was a horrible, bone chilling scream, as if he were being murdered. Ms. May and the Principal rushed over to Jerry to see what his problem was. But then, I felt the bad feeling in me start to rise up more and more. I start to have, what I know now was, a panic attack. I fell to the floor, crying and gasping for breath. Ms. May rushed over to me as the Principal tried to comfort Jerry.

"Shiloh, what's wrong?" Ms. May said in a comforting but firm voice. I didn't say anything as I tried to calm myself down.

Then I looked up at her. "Someone did something bad." I said in a low voice.

She looked at me in confusion, then in realization, and then in horror. Her head quickly looked back at Jerry who had stopped screaming, but was still crying. She looked back at me. "Yes, someone did do something bad." She confirmed. "How do you know that?"

I pointed at Jerry. "He showed me."

Before she could say anything, another teacher rushed in and met Ms. May. "We have the news on in the conference room." She was hysterical. "The second tower was just hit." I don't even think she was trying to whisper.

We didn't have much of a school day after that. The teachers had us switch between the lunch room and the playground for the rest of the day. It was crowded, too. First through fifth grade students. Some kids even got picked up early by their parents, including Jerry. But I felt horrible for the rest of the day. The bad feelings never left. I was in the cafeteria when the plane hit the Pentagon. And on the playground at 10:03 when the plane crashed into the field in Shanksville, Pennsylvania. I didn't know it then, but when I got older and lined the times up, I knew that, that's where I had been by my feelings.

I don't know if what happened to me on 9/11 has anything to do with the strange things that have happened to me my entire life, but it was an important story to add.


The following Friday was my first real weird experience. And weird ?wasn't even the right word. It was flat out disturbing. It was after school and I was in the backyard playing catch (well it was catch for him, it was more like drop ?for me) with my older brother Luke, he was nine at the time. My older sister Jenny, who was 11, went to her friend's house for a sleepover. My mother was in the house with my youngest sister Casey, who was two. And my dad would be getting done with work shortly.

While we were playing, Luke was complaining about how he wanted a brother instead of three sisters so he could actually play catch. I reminded him that I was only six and would get better; to which he retorted that he was great at catch at my age.

"Maybe you're just bad at throwing!" I yelled back.  

He scowled. "Nuh uh!" And he threw the ball as hard as he could and it came crashing into my stomach. It hurt really bad, but I didn't want Luke to know that. I took the ball and threw it as hard as I could. But in doing that it went over his head, over the road, and down the deep ditch on the other side. I found it kind of strange that I had managed to throw it that far. But I felt proud of myself. Luke looked kind of impressed for a moment, but then shook it off like it was no big thing. "Way to go, moron." He grunted.

"See! I can throw good!" I yelled. He rolled his eyes, turned around, walked into the road, and down the steep ditch where I lost sight of him. Then, to my left I hear the sound of a loud engine quickly approaching. I hurried over to the side of the road and looked down to see a large truck speeding down our road. I looked over to the ditch to see that Luke still hadn't come up yet. I looked back at the truck as it was coming faster and faster. As it was a few yards from my house, Luke had climbed up the ditch and was back up on the side of the road. He brushed off his pants as he walked onto the highway without looking both ways. "Luke!" I yelled. He didn't look up. "The truck!?" I yelled as loud as I could. He heard me and looked up, just in time for the truck to hit him at about seventy miles an hour. The sound of the collision was as best I can describe as when you crunch a cracker in your hand, but 100 times louder, and a gun being shot off at the same time. The truck didn't even stop. It just kept speeding away and soon disappeared completely over the hills.

I looked at the road and screamed. Luke's body was spread all over the road like a bug. His blood and guts covered the road. I screamed at the top of my lungs. I was shocked that my mom or none of my neighbors heard me. Then I threw up all over the ground. I was frozen where I stood. I didn't know what to do. I just stared down at my dead brother's body squashed all over the road. And then; I was able to move again. I immideately sprinted back into the yard and through the back door. My mom sat on the floor playing with Casey. She looked completely unaware of my screams.

She took one look at me and her face fell. She picked up Casey and hurried over to me. "What's wrong, honey?" She placed her hand against my forehead. "You're sweating and shaking. What happened?"

I looked back out the way I came, my teeth chattering. "L-L," I suttered. "Luke...g..ot..." Tears started flowing faster down my face and I threw up again.

Mom walked over and placed Casey in her play pen and grabbed both of my hands. "Shiloh." She said firmly. "What happened?"

I looked behind me again. "Luke got hit by a truck," I sobbed out. "Luke got hit by a truck!" I yelled. My mom's face went pale. "He's dead, mom! He's dead!" Mom stood up fast and she ran toward the back door. I didn't want to go back out there and see Luke's body again.

I waited to hear my moms screams. I waited longer. And a little bit longer. But nothing. And then, mom walked into the house with a very angry look on her face. It was beet red and she wore a scowl that could scare the devil himself. I thought she was mad at me for what happened. That I should've been more careful and not play by the road. I started to cry again. Without saying a word to me, she went and picked Casey up out of her play pen.

Then she pulled on my ear and dragged me to the back door. I go out in the backyard, and he stood there. Luke. No blood. No guts. Nothing. He stood there in the yard with the football in his hand. "You told mom I died??" I could hear the anger in his voice. He loved mom, a lot. I knew he, not so secretly, loved mom more than dad. And he didn't want her to feel angry or sad or any negative emotion at all.

Mom turned her head toward me. "Why did you tell me Luke died?!" She exclaimed. "Why would you do something like that to me?" The tears started flowing down her cheeks. I was in complete shock. I saw Luke get hit by that truck. I saw him die. There was no way that hadn't happened.

"M-mommy..." I stuttered. "But...I saw it. I saw him get hit by a truck." I said in a quiet voice.

She looked pretty close to beating me. "Just wait till your father finds out what you did."


And my father did. He grounded me for three months. School was the only time I was to be let out of the house. No toys either. They were just so confused as to why I did what I did. I heard them say that I was feeling like I wasn't getting enough attention, and that's why I did it. They also suggested that maybe I had some kind of mental illness. And my dad even said that I could just be straight up insane and this was just the first time I showed any signs of it.

But I knew what I saw. It was real. I don't know how or why this happened. Luke should be dead. Luke was mad at me for a few weeks but then he just got confused and started asking me why I did it. I told him the truth. He didn't believe me of course. But I accepted my punishment. They seemed to get over it over the course of six months. But I didn't.



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