One of my first initiations into the world of creepy was a black and white movie titled Village of the Damned, done in 1960. I’m sure fellow horror freaks, like me, have seen the film. In my recent search for unique Urban Legends, I found one that reminded me of the Village of the Damned.
The Black-eyed Children Urban Legend
(Fictionalized)
Brian Bethel was a seasoned journalist. The flicker of his desk lamp created an ambiance of both warmth and mystery in his small office. It was 1996 in Abilene, Texas. An uncanny quiet wrapped the night in eery stillness. The kind that makes you feel as if you’re being watched.
Brian leaned back, massaging his temples, eyes skimming over the day’s notes. He had just finished writing an article and felt the pull of the night air, craving a drive to clear his mind. He grabbed his jacket and keys and left the soft hum of his computer behind.
Night Air
He’d parked outside the old communications building. He took a moment to savor the quiet. The dim light of the nearby flickering marquee sign cast eerie shadows. An otherworldly atmosphere saturated the night. He jumped, chills running along his spine, when a sudden tapping on his window stirred him from his thoughts.
Two boys, around ten, stood beside his car. Their presence was unsettling. They wore outdated clothes, their heads slightly bowed. Brian rolled down his window halfway, curious but cautious.
“Can we get a ride?” the platinum-haired boy asked. His voice was steady but devoid of inflection, like a rehearsed line.
Be Afraid
Brian’s instincts screamed be afraid. Be very afraid. But he felt an unexplainable pull towards them. “Where are you heading?”
“Our mother forgot us at home. We need to see the movie,” the other boy said, a mirrored image of his mate. His voice, just as flat. Brian glanced at the marquee. Last showings were already halfway done.
“It’s too late for a movie, kids. Where do you live?”
“Just let us in. We won’t take long,” the first boy insisted. His tone grew forceful as he repeated, “Just let us in.”
A chill crawled down Brian’s spine. Something about their demeanor felt wrong. It wasn’t just their monotonous voices or odd persistence. Then, as if his instincts flipped a switch, he noticed their eyes—black, like endless voids, absorbed the faint flickering marque light, but reflected nothing back.
Brian’s heart pounded. He gripped the steering wheel, every fiber of his being shouted to get away. “No, you need to go home,” he said. Voice shaky.
“Let us in,” the boys said in unison. Their pitch increased. Their eyes bored into him with a chilling intensity.
In a panic, Brian slammed the car into reverse. Tires screeched as he sped away. He glanced in the rearview mirror and expected to see the boys receding into the distance. Instead, they were gone, as if they’d never existed.
At Home
Back in his apartment, Brian locked every door and window. His heart still raced. He sat at his desk, fingers hovering over the keyboard. He had to document this, to share the inexplicable encounter with the world. Of course, people would read his story with skepticism. But that night had carved itself into his memory, a dark mystery lurking at the edge of his reality.
As he typed, questions gnawed at him: What were they? Why did their presence fill him with such dread? And most disturbingly, what would have happened if he had let them in?
He never found the answers. But his story, shared in hushed tones and late-night discussions, fueled the Urban Legend of the Black-eyed Children. A creepy reminder that some encounters defy explanation and that perhaps we shouldn’t answer every cry for help.
***Let me know if this Urban Legend reminds you of the movie Village of the Damn.
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