Blair Bathory

I saw myself in the dream playing alone, and then the camera of my mind pulled back, and I wasn't alone at all. He was behind me, not playing, watching, always watching. The last time I went to the house, something felt different. The upstairs had been walled off. My grandmother said no one was allowed up there anymore. They closed it, I asked. No, she said. He did.

I saw myself in the dream playing alone, and then the camera of my mind pulled back, and I wasn't alone at all. He was behind me, not playing, watching, always watching. The last time I went to the house, something felt different. The upstairs had been walled off. My grandmother said no one was allowed up there anymore. They closed it, I asked. No, she said. He did.

I asked her what she meant, but she waved it off, muttering that the house was too old, that I shouldn't ask questions. But in her voice, I heard the same unease I had felt all those years ago, the same lump in my throat. Sometimes, when I'm falling asleep, I hear the soft sound of footsteps on the stairs, slow, deliberate. And I know they're not mine. I don't think he ever left.

I asked her what she meant, but she waved it off, muttering that the house was too old, that I shouldn't ask questions. But in her voice, I heard the same unease I had felt all those years ago, the same lump in my throat. Sometimes, when I'm falling asleep, I hear the soft sound of footsteps on the stairs, slow, deliberate. And I know they're not mine. I don't think he ever left.

I asked her what she meant, but she waved it off, muttering that the house was too old, that I shouldn't ask questions. But in her voice, I heard the same unease I had felt all those years ago, the same lump in my throat. Sometimes, when I'm falling asleep, I hear the soft sound of footsteps on the stairs, slow, deliberate. And I know they're not mine. I don't think he ever left.

I think he's waiting. Maybe for me. Maybe for someone else. If I can ever get my grandmother to open up about it, I'll share with an update. But one thing I know for sure, I never learned his name. And that was his choice, not mine. He is the one who is in charge, not me. What happens to the spirits we forget? Do they forget us too?

I think he's waiting. Maybe for me. Maybe for someone else. If I can ever get my grandmother to open up about it, I'll share with an update. But one thing I know for sure, I never learned his name. And that was his choice, not mine. He is the one who is in charge, not me. What happens to the spirits we forget? Do they forget us too?

I think he's waiting. Maybe for me. Maybe for someone else. If I can ever get my grandmother to open up about it, I'll share with an update. But one thing I know for sure, I never learned his name. And that was his choice, not mine. He is the one who is in charge, not me. What happens to the spirits we forget? Do they forget us too?

If you spent years playing with someone only to learn they never existed, would you trust your memories or fear them? Let me know in the comments what horror movies you're watching right now. And follow me on Letterboxd to see the movies that I'm watching right now. I recently saw Sinners and I absolutely loved it. It's so good. If you get the opportunity, go see it in theaters.

If you spent years playing with someone only to learn they never existed, would you trust your memories or fear them? Let me know in the comments what horror movies you're watching right now. And follow me on Letterboxd to see the movies that I'm watching right now. I recently saw Sinners and I absolutely loved it. It's so good. If you get the opportunity, go see it in theaters.

If you spent years playing with someone only to learn they never existed, would you trust your memories or fear them? Let me know in the comments what horror movies you're watching right now. And follow me on Letterboxd to see the movies that I'm watching right now. I recently saw Sinners and I absolutely loved it. It's so good. If you get the opportunity, go see it in theaters.

If you didn't know, my other job full-time is I'm a horror film writer and director. And I'm so excited, like I said earlier, to start telling you about all these projects I've been working on in the shadows. So keep checking all of our socials for updates because I'm going to be sharing a lot of stuff really soon.

If you didn't know, my other job full-time is I'm a horror film writer and director. And I'm so excited, like I said earlier, to start telling you about all these projects I've been working on in the shadows. So keep checking all of our socials for updates because I'm going to be sharing a lot of stuff really soon.

If you didn't know, my other job full-time is I'm a horror film writer and director. And I'm so excited, like I said earlier, to start telling you about all these projects I've been working on in the shadows. So keep checking all of our socials for updates because I'm going to be sharing a lot of stuff really soon.

They say los caros, remember the dead, that if you're carrying grief through mountain roads at dusk, something ancient will notice. Yvonne had never believed that. She thought those stories were just warnings for kids who played too far from home, but that was before her uncle died, before the four of them had to make the drive up to bury him.

They say los caros, remember the dead, that if you're carrying grief through mountain roads at dusk, something ancient will notice. Yvonne had never believed that. She thought those stories were just warnings for kids who played too far from home, but that was before her uncle died, before the four of them had to make the drive up to bury him.

They say los caros, remember the dead, that if you're carrying grief through mountain roads at dusk, something ancient will notice. Yvonne had never believed that. She thought those stories were just warnings for kids who played too far from home, but that was before her uncle died, before the four of them had to make the drive up to bury him.

It was fall 2003, and the air in the Sierra Madre was already thin with dust and old prayers. They were running late, hours behind the rest of the family. The sun was low and fading fast. The road ahead, twisted like a snake made of dirt and rock. No pavement, no lights. Just the distant shape of mountains, rising like the bones of the earth. She was driving the old station wagon.

It was fall 2003, and the air in the Sierra Madre was already thin with dust and old prayers. They were running late, hours behind the rest of the family. The sun was low and fading fast. The road ahead, twisted like a snake made of dirt and rock. No pavement, no lights. Just the distant shape of mountains, rising like the bones of the earth. She was driving the old station wagon.

It was fall 2003, and the air in the Sierra Madre was already thin with dust and old prayers. They were running late, hours behind the rest of the family. The sun was low and fading fast. The road ahead, twisted like a snake made of dirt and rock. No pavement, no lights. Just the distant shape of mountains, rising like the bones of the earth. She was driving the old station wagon.