April 6, 2021 • 11 mins
A creepy and quaint tale about the memory of a young Alabaster Catz and of how he had to share his toys with the nightmare that haunted him.
As a child, Alabaster Catz would dream of a faceless boy who stood in the corner of his room. Upon waking each morning with scratches on his face, he concludes that he must share his toys with the boy in his dreams to prevent further injuries. Unfortunately, there are many things that can make a child angry, and the boy in his dreams is no exception.
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Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Alabaster Catz (00:02):
Good evening, I'm Alabaster Catz and it's time
for another tale to tell in thedark.
Welcome to the show. I hope youdon't mind my presence in the
room. I assure you tonight youhave nothing to fear, except
(00:26):
perhaps an old memory. Andluckily for you, that is exactly
what we were going to relive.
From time to time, it's good toremember our past lives, but
some memories should remainforgotten. And for the poor soul
in this story, nothing could betruer. Unfortunately, that soul
is me. So for tonight's tale, werelive one of my childhood
(00:51):
memories and of the nightmarethat haunted me. And should you
think that this is solely a workof fiction then allow me to
clarify the matter here and now.
It's not. That said, now wouldbe a good time to grab a drink,
dim the lights, and take onelast look over your shoulder.
(01:12):
The show's about to begin.
Tonight's tale is a piecewritten by yours truly. It
recalls a memory from mychildhood, and of the nightmare
(01:35):
with whom I shared my toys. Tofor Steven, a chilling Tale by
Alabaster Catz. When I was fouryears old, I lived with my
mother and sister in a housethat no longer exists. It wasn't
a particularly large house, butthe attic had been converted
into a second floor, which addedtwo small bedrooms and a
(01:57):
bathroom between them.
Naturally, these became my roomand my sister's room. Divided
only by a short stretch ofcarpet, my sister and I would
leave our doors open so we couldwhisper to one another after
bedtime. However, that allchanged when things started
disappearing. After moving in,things got busy, my mother
worked. My sister started gradeschool, and I was home alone
(02:19):
with the babysitter. Needless tosay, in a household where a
single mother is outnumbered byher kids, things tended to go
missing. An eyelash curler, aStrawberry Shortcake hairbrush,
a He-Man action figure. It wasjust an accepted part of the
household. Things would gomissing, only to turn up with a
(02:40):
day later on the kitchen table.
We never thought much of it. Mymother assumed that it was the
babysitter. My sister assumedthat it was my mother. And I
assumed that it was magic.
Whatever the case, it happenedso frequently that it became
part of daily life. Somethingunimportant would go missing.
Someone would ask where it was.
(03:02):
And someone else would say, "Didyou check the kitchen table?"
This continued for monthswithout issue. Then one day,
something important disappeared.
I remember it was on a weekdaybecause my mother was at work
and my sister was at school. Iwas playing in my room when I
decided to take out my favoritetoy. It was a blue Formula One
race car with a checkeredspoiler and fast spinning
(03:24):
wheels. Out of all of mypossessions, this was the most
cherished one. It was the onething I didn't break and the
only thing I never lost. But onthat day, when I looked inside
my tin lunchbox, it was gone.
After school, my sister camehome to find her favorite Snoopy
(03:45):
doll was missing two. And laterthat evening, my mother couldn't
find her best perfume. Now, onecould argue that the babysitter
had taken them. But these thingsweren't valuable to anyone other
than us. They were personalitems. The toy my father gave
me, the doll my grandmother gaveto my sister, and the perfume
that reminded my mother ofbetter days. Needless to say, my
(04:09):
mother just passed it off asmisplaced items. But I was old
enough to know when I had lostsomething or if someone had
taken it from me. So that night,when I went to bed, I went to
bed angry. Unfortunately, Ididn't know something else was
angry too. After dinner, mysister and I washed up and
(04:30):
climbed into bed. Normally, thatwould have been the end of the
night, but after begging hermother to sing us a lullaby, she
began to sing from thedownstairs dining room while
toiling away on her sewingmachine. However, long after her
songs had ended, and her sewingmachine had stopped. I dreamt of
a little boy standing in thecorner of my room. He stood away
(04:53):
from the window so that his facewas hidden from the moonlight.
But I could tell he had shorthair and wore a collared shirt.
He never said a word or movedfrom this corner. But for some
reason, I could tell that he wasangry. The next day I woke up
and found my sister standing inthe doorway. She looked
concerned and asked me if I wasokay. I didn't know what she was
(05:16):
talking about until I went tothe bathroom and saw deep
scratches on my face. That'swhen my sister told me she heard
me talking to someone in my roomlast night. Someone named
Steven. The day passed like anyother day, my sister went to
school, my mother went to work,and I stayed home with the
babysitter. Only that day, Ididn't play with my toys. I was
(05:38):
scared and thought if I did,Steven would get mad and visit
me again. I had the feeling thathe didn't like the fact that I
wasn't sharing my toys. So in aneffort to make him happy, I came
up with a solution. I opened mytin lunchbox, took out my race
cars and began dividing them up.
One for me. Two for Steven.
(06:01):
That night, I had lined Stevensrace cars on top of my dresser.
When my mother came in to kissme goodnight, she asked me why I
hadn't put them away to which Ireplied, "Those are for Steven."
The next day, I woke up relievedthat I didn't dream of Steven. I
looked over at the dresser tosee if my race cars were still
(06:21):
there, and to my surprise, foundmy Formula One racer placed in
line with all the others.
Convinced I had found a way tokeep Steven happy, I decided to
continue dividing my race carseach night. One for me, two for
Steven. Things went back tonormal for a few weeks until one
night Steven visited me again.
(06:42):
He still didn't speak or move,but I knew he was angry with me.
The toys were still on thedresser, but draped on top of
them was one of my collaredshirts. When I woke the next
morning, I had dried blood on myface from a nosebleed I couldn't
remember. Scared I began to puton the collared shirt when my
mother came in to stop me.
"Don't put that on," she said.
(07:04):
"You'll get blood all over it.
Go wash your face and put on a Tshirt. Your father's on his
way." I did what I was told asmy mother packed my clothes for
a weekend with my father. Butwhen his car pulled up, I
started to cry. I told her,"Mommy, I can't wear this shirt.
Steven doesn't like it."Unfortunately, she wasn't in a
listening mood, so with a kissto my head she sent me out to
(07:26):
his car. Two days later, I camehome to find that my race cars
weren't on the dresser. Theywere scattered all over the
floor. That night, Stevenvisited me again. Only this time
he wasn't in the corner. He wasstanding next to my bed. The
next morning I woke with bloodon my sheets and more scratches
(07:46):
on my face. When my mother askedwhat happened. I told her that
it was Steven. She didn'tbelieve me though, and tried to
explain that Steven was just myimaginary friend. For almost two
years I continued divvying mytoys and avoiding wearing
certain t-shirts while living inthat house. Some nights it
worked. But most nights, I woulddream of Steven and wake up with
(08:08):
scratches on my face. After awhile my mother took me to the
doctor to see what was going on.
The doctor concluded I washaving Night Terrors and that
the wounds were self inflicted.
My mother, however, began tosuspect that it was something
else. That night Steven paid meanother visit. He was furious I
had gone to the doctor. I triedto tell him that it wasn't my
(08:32):
fault, but as usual, he didn'tspeak and he didn't move. From
that night on I began to wake upwith bruises all over my body.
Giving up my toys and avoidingcertain clothes no longer kept
Steven happy. He was visiting meevery night. And every time he
did, I woke up with moreinjuries. Soon after, for
reasons my mother avoidedtelling us, we moved out of that
(08:55):
house and my sister and I wentto go live with my father. A
couple years later, we learnedthat the house had burned down
and was left as a vacant lot. Tothis day. My parents still think
that Stephen was my imaginaryfriend. But my sister knows
different. She remembers hearingme cry out in my sleep and the
nights she came running to myroom only to find that my door
(09:18):
had been closed. Now, decadeslater, I no longer play with
toys or worry about the clothesI wear. Today I have my own
family and I've come to cherishmore important things than my
blue Formula One racecar. Andeven though I occasionally have
nightmares, they're never aboutSteven. Then about a week ago, I
got a phone call from my sister.
(09:43):
We began to reminisce and Iasked her if she remembered the
old house. She said she did butwas curious as to why I brought
it up. I didn't have an answer.
For some reason, I was justthinking about it. A day later,
she sent me a text, no messagejust to link. When I clicked o
it, I was taken to a real estatwebsite where a new house ha
(10:04):
been built where the old oneused to be. And like the old
house, this one also had anattic that was converted to two
bedrooms and a bathroom.
Shrugging it off is coincidence,I messaged her back with an "lo
" and didn't think about it agai. Then last night, just befo
e bedtime, I went to my daughters room and found her playing wi
(10:27):
h her favorite blocks. She ws sorting them into two pile
. When I asked her what she ws doing, she simply replied,
Gir (10:32):
One for me, two for Steven.
Alabaster Catz (10:50):
That concludes our show for the evening. Thank
you for joining us, and Iappreciate you listening to me
as I rattle my chains. Nexttime, we'll slip into the sad
and the strange as a darkromance blooms and withers with
name. If you'd like for yourtory to be read on the show, or
imply wish to pass me a messagehrough the veil, you can reach
(11:12):
e at alabastercatz.com. Also,f you liked what you heard
onight, subscribe to thelabaster Catz podcast for some
ore borrowed time. Once again,hank you for joining us. I'm
labaster Catz. And remember,he best stories are the ones we
ell in the dark.
Good evening, I'm Alabaster Catz and it's time
for another tale to tell in thedark.
Welcome to the show. I hope youdon't mind my presence in the
room. I assure you tonight youhave nothing to fear, except
(00:26):
perhaps an old memory. Andluckily for you, that is exactly
what we were going to relive.
From time to time, it's good toremember our past lives, but
some memories should remainforgotten. And for the poor soul
in this story, nothing could betruer. Unfortunately, that soul
is me. So for tonight's tale, werelive one of my childhood
(00:51):
memories and of the nightmarethat haunted me. And should you
think that this is solely a workof fiction then allow me to
clarify the matter here and now.
It's not. That said, now wouldbe a good time to grab a drink,
dim the lights, and take onelast look over your shoulder.
(01:12):
The show's about to begin.
Tonight's tale is a piecewritten by yours truly. It
recalls a memory from mychildhood, and of the nightmare
(01:35):
with whom I shared my toys. Tofor Steven, a chilling Tale by
Alabaster Catz. When I was fouryears old, I lived with my
mother and sister in a housethat no longer exists. It wasn't
a particularly large house, butthe attic had been converted
into a second floor, which addedtwo small bedrooms and a
(01:57):
bathroom between them.
Naturally, these became my roomand my sister's room. Divided
only by a short stretch ofcarpet, my sister and I would
leave our doors open so we couldwhisper to one another after
bedtime. However, that allchanged when things started
disappearing. After moving in,things got busy, my mother
worked. My sister started gradeschool, and I was home alone
(02:19):
with the babysitter. Needless tosay, in a household where a
single mother is outnumbered byher kids, things tended to go
missing. An eyelash curler, aStrawberry Shortcake hairbrush,
a He-Man action figure. It wasjust an accepted part of the
household. Things would gomissing, only to turn up with a
(02:40):
day later on the kitchen table.
We never thought much of it. Mymother assumed that it was the
babysitter. My sister assumedthat it was my mother. And I
assumed that it was magic.
Whatever the case, it happenedso frequently that it became
part of daily life. Somethingunimportant would go missing.
Someone would ask where it was.
(03:02):
And someone else would say, "Didyou check the kitchen table?"
This continued for monthswithout issue. Then one day,
something important disappeared.
I remember it was on a weekdaybecause my mother was at work
and my sister was at school. Iwas playing in my room when I
decided to take out my favoritetoy. It was a blue Formula One
race car with a checkeredspoiler and fast spinning
(03:24):
wheels. Out of all of mypossessions, this was the most
cherished one. It was the onething I didn't break and the
only thing I never lost. But onthat day, when I looked inside
my tin lunchbox, it was gone.
After school, my sister camehome to find her favorite Snoopy
(03:45):
doll was missing two. And laterthat evening, my mother couldn't
find her best perfume. Now, onecould argue that the babysitter
had taken them. But these thingsweren't valuable to anyone other
than us. They were personalitems. The toy my father gave
me, the doll my grandmother gaveto my sister, and the perfume
that reminded my mother ofbetter days. Needless to say, my
(04:09):
mother just passed it off asmisplaced items. But I was old
enough to know when I had lostsomething or if someone had
taken it from me. So that night,when I went to bed, I went to
bed angry. Unfortunately, Ididn't know something else was
angry too. After dinner, mysister and I washed up and
(04:30):
climbed into bed. Normally, thatwould have been the end of the
night, but after begging hermother to sing us a lullaby, she
began to sing from thedownstairs dining room while
toiling away on her sewingmachine. However, long after her
songs had ended, and her sewingmachine had stopped. I dreamt of
a little boy standing in thecorner of my room. He stood away
(04:53):
from the window so that his facewas hidden from the moonlight.
But I could tell he had shorthair and wore a collared shirt.
He never said a word or movedfrom this corner. But for some
reason, I could tell that he wasangry. The next day I woke up
and found my sister standing inthe doorway. She looked
concerned and asked me if I wasokay. I didn't know what she was
(05:16):
talking about until I went tothe bathroom and saw deep
scratches on my face. That'swhen my sister told me she heard
me talking to someone in my roomlast night. Someone named
Steven. The day passed like anyother day, my sister went to
school, my mother went to work,and I stayed home with the
babysitter. Only that day, Ididn't play with my toys. I was
(05:38):
scared and thought if I did,Steven would get mad and visit
me again. I had the feeling thathe didn't like the fact that I
wasn't sharing my toys. So in aneffort to make him happy, I came
up with a solution. I opened mytin lunchbox, took out my race
cars and began dividing them up.
One for me. Two for Steven.
(06:01):
That night, I had lined Stevensrace cars on top of my dresser.
When my mother came in to kissme goodnight, she asked me why I
hadn't put them away to which Ireplied, "Those are for Steven."
The next day, I woke up relievedthat I didn't dream of Steven. I
looked over at the dresser tosee if my race cars were still
(06:21):
there, and to my surprise, foundmy Formula One racer placed in
line with all the others.
Convinced I had found a way tokeep Steven happy, I decided to
continue dividing my race carseach night. One for me, two for
Steven. Things went back tonormal for a few weeks until one
night Steven visited me again.
(06:42):
He still didn't speak or move,but I knew he was angry with me.
The toys were still on thedresser, but draped on top of
them was one of my collaredshirts. When I woke the next
morning, I had dried blood on myface from a nosebleed I couldn't
remember. Scared I began to puton the collared shirt when my
mother came in to stop me.
"Don't put that on," she said.
(07:04):
"You'll get blood all over it.
Go wash your face and put on a Tshirt. Your father's on his
way." I did what I was told asmy mother packed my clothes for
a weekend with my father. Butwhen his car pulled up, I
started to cry. I told her,"Mommy, I can't wear this shirt.
Steven doesn't like it."Unfortunately, she wasn't in a
listening mood, so with a kissto my head she sent me out to
(07:26):
his car. Two days later, I camehome to find that my race cars
weren't on the dresser. Theywere scattered all over the
floor. That night, Stevenvisited me again. Only this time
he wasn't in the corner. He wasstanding next to my bed. The
next morning I woke with bloodon my sheets and more scratches
(07:46):
on my face. When my mother askedwhat happened. I told her that
it was Steven. She didn'tbelieve me though, and tried to
explain that Steven was just myimaginary friend. For almost two
years I continued divvying mytoys and avoiding wearing
certain t-shirts while living inthat house. Some nights it
worked. But most nights, I woulddream of Steven and wake up with
(08:08):
scratches on my face. After awhile my mother took me to the
doctor to see what was going on.
The doctor concluded I washaving Night Terrors and that
the wounds were self inflicted.
My mother, however, began tosuspect that it was something
else. That night Steven paid meanother visit. He was furious I
had gone to the doctor. I triedto tell him that it wasn't my
(08:32):
fault, but as usual, he didn'tspeak and he didn't move. From
that night on I began to wake upwith bruises all over my body.
Giving up my toys and avoidingcertain clothes no longer kept
Steven happy. He was visiting meevery night. And every time he
did, I woke up with moreinjuries. Soon after, for
reasons my mother avoidedtelling us, we moved out of that
(08:55):
house and my sister and I wentto go live with my father. A
couple years later, we learnedthat the house had burned down
and was left as a vacant lot. Tothis day. My parents still think
that Stephen was my imaginaryfriend. But my sister knows
different. She remembers hearingme cry out in my sleep and the
nights she came running to myroom only to find that my door
(09:18):
had been closed. Now, decadeslater, I no longer play with
toys or worry about the clothesI wear. Today I have my own
family and I've come to cherishmore important things than my
blue Formula One racecar. Andeven though I occasionally have
nightmares, they're never aboutSteven. Then about a week ago, I
got a phone call from my sister.
(09:43):
We began to reminisce and Iasked her if she remembered the
old house. She said she did butwas curious as to why I brought
it up. I didn't have an answer.
For some reason, I was justthinking about it. A day later,
she sent me a text, no messagejust to link. When I clicked o
it, I was taken to a real estatwebsite where a new house ha
(10:04):
been built where the old oneused to be. And like the old
house, this one also had anattic that was converted to two
bedrooms and a bathroom.
Shrugging it off is coincidence,I messaged her back with an "lo
" and didn't think about it agai. Then last night, just befo
e bedtime, I went to my daughters room and found her playing wi
(10:27):
h her favorite blocks. She ws sorting them into two pile
. When I asked her what she ws doing, she simply replied,
Gir (10:32):
One for me, two for Steven.
Alabaster Catz (10:50):
That concludes our show for the evening. Thank
you for joining us, and Iappreciate you listening to me
as I rattle my chains. Nexttime, we'll slip into the sad
and the strange as a darkromance blooms and withers with
name. If you'd like for yourtory to be read on the show, or
imply wish to pass me a messagehrough the veil, you can reach
(11:12):
e at alabastercatz.com. Also,f you liked what you heard
onight, subscribe to thelabaster Catz podcast for some
ore borrowed time. Once again,hank you for joining us. I'm
labaster Catz. And remember,he best stories are the ones we
ell in the dark.
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