My sister and her friends love telling scary stories. They love being afraid. They’re like fear masochists or something. Her friend, Emily, is just about the most demented person I’ve ever met. Case in point, last year, she and my sister were on a school trip to New York. They bought a teddy bear, ripped off its arms and head, stuck the bear head on a pen, stuck the pen in a water bottle, and left the “sacrifice” in the room for the poor hotel staff to find.
My sister wants me to add in this disclaimer: Emily is a good Catholic girl. She even has her own Catholic Saint name. But you can be a good Catholic girl and still be demented.
Anyway, last night, they were hanging out with the third musketeer of their little group, Kenzie, and, as usual, telling scary stories. Emily told two exceptionally frightening tales, one about her friend who is haunted by a demon who takes the form of a little boy with no eyes and long, creepy fingers (that one about brought me to tears), and the other, about a teacher that one of her friends had had and one of his students, a young girl named Kimberly.
Upon further research, it turns out the Kimberly story is actually something of a legend. It’s a story that Ed Hermanski has been telling his students for at least 15 years or so, and to this day, he claims it to be true. The story takes a while to listen to, but every spine-chilling moment is pretty worth it.
There’s also a news article written about Hermanski and his famous tale.
Well, after listening to almost the entire thing (my sister told me that the last few minutes were nothing important… just the weird things that happened every time after Mr. Hermanski told the story), my sister and I had a long talk about demons, God, Christ, religious stuff etc. Needless to say, we both slept with crosses next to our beds last night.
This morning, I woke up, not really thinking too much about either story. I got up, went about my morning routine, stepped out to run a few errands, and came back home. Not five minutes after I walked in the door, I heard a loud POP out behind our house and the power failed. I waited, thinking it might come back on after a while, but it didn’t, so I called the power company. They confirmed there was a power outage (shocking, I know) and assured me that the power would be back on sometime later on in the day (clearly, as I am posting this, it is back on now). After I got off the phone with them, I went out again to meet a friend for brunch.
By the time I returned home, the power was back on. My sister was up and alert.
“Yay, the power’s back!” I said. My sister just looked at me.
“Were we the only house that lost power?” she asked.
“I don’t know. I know the neighbors across the street still had theirs because their porch lights were still on, but I don’t know about the ones on our side of the street.”
My sister remained silent for a brief moment before she said, “That’s what happened to that teacher after he told the Kimberly story.”
“He lost power. You know how I said that the rest of the recording was just a bunch of weird stuff that happened to him after he told the story? It was that the day after he told it, his power went out.”
Now, we live in an old house. Power outages are far from unheard of. But today is not particularly windy or rainy or snowy. In fact, the weather is quite pleasant. I’m not saying that a random power outage today is impossible, but it is kind of a strange coincidence that the day after my sister brings this actually quite disturbing story home, we experience the same strange phenomenon as the man who told the tale originally.
I’m hoping that we won’t be seeing or hearing any more of Kimberly, especially since I’m spreading the story around even more so. I like to think that, since this is a Christian household, we’re pretty protected from things that go bump in the night. But when it all comes down to it, I guess you never really know.
*EDIT* December 28, 2013
It happened again. The power went out AGAIN this morning. I am so done telling this story.