The Boy With the Birthday Cake

Hey there, it's Edwin and this is Scary story podcast The Boy and the Birthday Cake. It was devastating to walk away from our house for the last time last October. It was where we raised our four children. There was no better time to sell, at least for us. The house had gotten too big after all of the additions and renovations we had made over the years. We live in Mexico, and if you think about how cheap the houses are now, think about how it was when we first bought it. I think we spent a little over ten thousand dollars if you were to do the currency conversion. It was a tiny brick house back then, built on the side of one of the dirt hills that the town was known for, the red volcanic rocks smack in the middle of the Sonoran Desert. But like my husband and his brothers were, the ideas were flowing from the start. The property grew from a single floor to two and a terrace, and then we added a place to put chickens, and we even had a pig at one time. When the property next two hours went on sale, we thought about buying it, but we changed our minds at the last minute and let the opportunity pass. But soon it had become our own time to sell. Things were getting more difficult around the area, that's for sure. All of the neighbors that we knew had moved away, and we got as scare when one of the new people who moved into the street got their car broken into, and the same woman got her purse stolen on the way up to her house. That had never happened to me. Well, one of my sons, one of the twins, had gotten into plenty of fights, so a few times he was followed straight to the house and he made us lock the doors and windows. God knows what he had been involved with. I never asked him. But this new place was in a developed and at least we could avoid the muddy streets whenever it rained, which was not often, but when it did, it brought down a few trees, and huge rocks would slide and slam against the wall we built around the house. The previous owners had warned us about the rolling stones, and we thought he was just trying to be cool by talking about a band who played songs in English. Everyone around the area warned us about it too, and it was thanks to them that we built a barrier to stop those stones from slamming against the backside of the house. The problems we would be facing in the new area was only that the neighbors across the street from us had a large lot that they use as a mechanics shop, and that drills and metal sounds would likely bother us during the day. They closed promptly at eight pm, though the wife of the owner said, while giving us a hopeful smile, they had built their own house too, and they had a huge yard all walled up for no reason. Since the hills were now far to the left of us. If we built another floor, then we'd be able to for the first time behind our house without seeing a steep hill of dirt and rocks, with houses that were built by tiptoeing builders and construction workers balancing every brick so that they would not fall while the cement was still wet. But we moved in and everything was fine. My husband and his brothers, now with gray hair but still equally unable to sit still, started working on the house. We carved out a window and started working on the second floor. It would be quieter, it would say, But I don't know if it was my hearing loss problem, or if the mechanics across the street had toned it down. But the noise did not seem to be that big of a deal. The problem was something else. Normally I stay away from ghost stories and other creepy things because that had been alone at that other house for most of the day, every day for most of my adult life. Sure, neighbors would stop by and family would come over, but once my children old enough for school, most mornings and afternoons were spent cleaning and waiting for the pots and pants to finish cooking whatever was inside. I liked the house the way it was the old one. I mean, it was small and had a large yard that was perfect for a garden, at least when he first got there. Then everyone had to come in and add bedrooms and floors. I never liked dark corners. They only seemed to be multiplying. The only ghost stories I had heard until that point had been about the ones that roam around the streets at night to scare drunks and those who are up to no good. Stories of the headless priest, the weeping woman. Of course, you cannot forget about those little people who lured the kids away to the hills to get them lost forever. And even though this house now had windows and hardly any dark corners, I always felt like I was not alone. Have you ever had that feeling? It doesn't happen everywhere. You can be alone in your room and feel perfectly fine, but then you go to the kitchen and feel the presence of someone standing there with you, like when a dog sits by you waiting for food to hit the floor, but the way a fly feels when you get close with the fly swater and it freezes in place, figuring out where to go, knowing it's going to die. It started with subtle things here and there, like the light switch from the bathroom. We had a cable put in with an actual switch dangling from behind the door. It was put as a temporary thing while the bathroom got redone, but it stayed there for a few months, with us getting used to stepping in there in the dark and fishing around for the cable. So whenever I knew I was going to get back up to use a bathroom, I would leave the light on and head over to our bedroom. One night, as expected, only about an hour later, after getting into bed. I had to use a bathroom. I put my foot against the cold floor and stepped out over the hallway, expecting to see the tiny slit of light from the crack of the bathroom door, but there was nothing there. I let the wave of anger leave since the urge to use the bathroom was stronger, but I still made a mental note to complain to my husband about it. He knew how I felt about the dark. It was the reason for adding the windows, after all, right to not be in the shadow of a large hill anymore. I raised my hands away from me to feel for the door. As I stepped closer to it, I felt a metal hinge against the wooden door with my left hand, and I felt my way through it until I got to the doorknob. My heart was about to jump out of my chest as I grabbed it with my right hand and pulled. That's when I felt someone pull on it from the other side. My hand would not listen to my brain as I told it to let go, but I was frozen, like all of my fears or whatever hid in the dark had come to life right at that instant. I wanted to scream, but instead and even worse I think I stopped breathing. It was dead quiet that night. Even the buzzing from the light post that was right outside the bathroom window had gone silent. It was through that silence that I heard it, like a squeak at first, and the laughter of a child. My eyes grew wide open as a door flung open. I had been putting my weight on it the entire time. Explaining it to my husband the next morning was another adventure. I told him that I had something scary to tell him, and he chuckled and, in his lazy voice, asked me if I had seen him too, and started to hum the start of the Happy Birthday song. I asked him what he was talking about, and then he held quiet and asked me to tell my story first, to see if it was the same thing. He knew better than to bring up something else that would scare me, So even though I was curious about what he had to say, I figured out pretty quickly that I would rather not know, at least not right then, So I told him that I had left the light on to go to the bathroom. Then I interrupted myself to ask him if he had turned it off, to which he promptly said no. I looked at him suspiciously, and then decided to believe him. In that very second. He normally slept through the night. I could tell her as snoring, which had bothered me less and less as I grew older. Light bulbs go out. He said the cable was loose. Maybe I had did impress a switch on all the way and it flicked itself off. I stopped him right then and there and told him about the door, the thing pulling it from the inside. His jaw dropped slightly, obviously interested in what I had experienced that night. I answered his questions that yes, the door eventually opened, and that I was able to turn on the light without a problem, that it scared the heck out of me. But then it was his turn to tell me, I have to be honest. I did not want to know he knew it, so he said that he would tell me once he got back home from work. He was probably hoping that I would forget about it, and I hope for the same thing too. That same morning, sometime around eleven, when I was in the kitchen by myself, I was able to see a tiny figure walk, not run, just almost float across the living room directly in front of the kitchen. I turned around quickly, and to my surprise, I was able to see what it was. A boy about seven or eight years old, with long jean shorts, a white shirt, and a cap on his head. My thoughts were that he was the son of one of the neighbors, someone that probably knew their way around the house and was able to visit. Somebody, perhaps one of the previous owner's kids. I mean, he looked a lot like the boy in the portraits that the last family had on the center table, the same eyebrows that I remember distinctly from the previous owner's wife. I dragged my hands on the towel against the handle of the oven door while keeping an eye on the boy from above the kitchen counter. That's when it became clear. The boy was holding something in his arms, a birthday cake with a handful of candles, his face completely expressionless. There was something in his eyes that told me that he was sad. I'm kind of sad that you never come back from I can't remember what I asked him, probably what he was doing there, or if he was lost, but he simply stared down at the cake for about thirty seconds. That's when he disappeared right in front of my eyes. My husband confirmed the sightings of the boy with the birthday cake, and we later asked a previous family about it over the phone. With tears through her voice, she told us that she was looking at his picture right then and there, that he had been a good boy, and that she was thankful to have him even for those eight short years. The next story is called boy at the Campsite, and that is coming up right after this. There is a very clear reason why I don't go camping, and did it not because I hate nature, like my older brother tells me. But they were not there when it happened. They hated everything that had to do with the church that we used to go to. Them, being older and more rebellious than I was, got away with making excuses about not going to the annual camping trip. They made the right call. During the sermons and stuff, they would laugh at the father's singing voice. They would scribble notes and hand them over to the girls in the benches behind us or in front of us, letting them know that the other one thought that she was pretty. They would make me more than blush during their little games one time, telling my friend who I had a crush on, that I had told them that I like her dress. That day, Marabella turned around, smiled, and mouthed the words thank you. I could not stand the embarrassment and started turning tomato red right there in the middle of service. After mass, she walked up to me and asked me about the homework assignment that we had due the next day, and then asked if I was going to the camping trip this time around. I had always heard about it, and I knew that it was free of charge, but most of the people who had gone to that that I knew from school had talked about how lame it was that they would make them cook and clean and play dumb games with each other that nobody liked. I looked at Marrable's short, dark hair barely touching her shoulders, and she smiled at me, waiting for an answer. Oh yeah, I told her, of course I was going. Then they asked her if she was going too. She reminded me that she had already told me that she was going, and that's why she was asking me. I apologize, stumbled on my words a few more times until her dad came up to us and let her know that they were about to go. She waved at me, saying see you tomorrow to me. My brothers came up to me and laughed, waving at me and saying the same, see you tomorrow, making fun of me, but I didn't mind it. I watched Marabeau walk away until she disappeared in the crowd as everyone walked out toward the food fair that they had after mass every Sunday. That last week of school went flying by, and soon summer had started and my name had been added to the roster of those who would be attending. I made sure that Marabeau's name was on there too. Once we got there, things went as expected. You got into a car and I got to sit next to Mirabell and another girl who had always bothered me because she simply would not stop talking. It was terrible, but I also felt bad for her, so I did my best to be friendly. The assignments were made and I was tasked with making sure that people found out which tents that were going to be sleeping in. The boys were on the left side of the open area among the trees of a retreat center. We had access to our own campfire spot this year, so we would not have to share it with the baseball team that went last year. According to the kids at my school, though, they had been the most fun because they were allowed to bring their own snacks and games, so they had gotten to hang out with them a lot. The girls were placed on the opposite side of the field, divided by the spot that the leaders had set up as a kitchen and supplies area, and all the confusion of who was going to be sleeping where I had completely ignored the fact that I had not been assigned a tent and everyone had been paired up already. Now I didn't know a lot of people from church, maybe three of the guys which were best friends already, and Marabelle and the other girl. I went up to one of the leaders to tell them about it, but she said not to worry, that they had plenty of tents, that I could go grab one and set it up, and that I would be by myself. At first, I was excited about it because I wouldn't have to hear someone else snore or make noises at night. But it was until nightfall, when it was pitch black outside, that I realized that only a thin layer of material would be separating my body from whatever lurked outside. The whole day was spent setting things up, reading a few snacks, and finally setting up the campfire to tell us what to expect for the next three days. The leaders were overly excited about it, like annoyingly excited, and everyone else not just me. I was looking forward to just hanging out until it was time to go to sleep, and after a while that's what happened. We all got a serving of cookies and chocolate milk. We were told a few stories, normal ones, not church or religious ones, and then we were told that we had free time, but we were told not to leave the marked areas. I talked to a few of the other people there, aside from Marabelle, but then soon everyone started going off into their tents, until I decided it might as well head off to sleep too. Was yet quiet. A few crickets here and there could be heard into the distance, counting their chirps eventually made me fall asleep. Then in the middle of the night, sh heard a scream. I yelled out through my tent if everyone was okay, and that's when I heard Marabel's voice asking if he had been me, who answered. There was something about her voice that made the fear go away. So I put on my shoes and unzipped the tent, only to see the fading coals in the distance from our campfire. It was crazy how dark it was that night. I turned on my flashlight and walked over to the yellow tent and zipped slightly from the left side. I saw Marabel's bracelets wiggle through the gap of the tent's door, wondering if at any moment the leaders or whoever was in charge of the group would wake up and walk over to check up on them. When I stepped up to the tent, Marabel unzipped it and asked me to come inside and to be quiet. With the flashes of light, I could see that there was some one else in there. I didn't want to get in trouble, but I also didn't want to be a party pooper. I pretended to be okay with everything and simply pulled off my shoes and stepped inside. There was an eerie silence in there as I looked over at a little boy it'd be six years old, looking down at his shoelaces, his face dirty with mud and bruises. Who is he? I asked Marabel, completely ignoring her tent mate, who was visibly scared of the little boy. She was probably the one who had screamed. Marabel told me that she didn't know who he was, but that he had been crying outside in the dark by himself, and would not say anything else. I sat there in silence before turning to him and asking him what his name was. I tried to be as mature as possible about the situation and said that I would go talk to one of the counselors about it, that maybe the boy needed help. Marabel looked at me smiled like as if she was proud of me or something. Then I stepped out of the tents and I put on my shoes and went to one of the leader's tents. I must have startled her in there, because she rushed out and asked what was wrong. I explained that there had been a small boy wandering by himself in the dark, that he was in Marabell's yellow tent. I waited out there for way longer than I felt that I had to out in the cold before the girl stepped outside with their shoes on. Together we went off to the other side of the tent and went straight for the yellow one. Marabel. I whispered, tapping against the door of the tent. It was quiet inside. I reached for the zipper when the counselor stopped me and took over for Marabel and the other girl, whose name I already forgot. For a few minutes, we just stood there when Mirabel peeked out of the tent door and recognized me right away, though she looked a little annoyed at me for the first time. Marabel tell them about the boy. What happened with the boy? She looked at me, completely confused at my question, your friend, what does she know about the boy? Where did he go? Her tent mate rubbed her eyes and then looked at Marabel, confused. All right, guys, the counselor girl said, I'm going to head back, good one. Marabel and her tent mate were looking at me as I tried to read their expressions. Had it all been a joke? The next day, the rumor started going around, and I became the weird kid in a way. I was sleeping in my own tent and I had gotten scared and called out for one of the counselors in the middle of the night. That was the story. At least. I decided to keep quiet about the boy in order to not embarrass myself even more in front of Marabel. I told myself that I would never be coming back to one of these camping trips. There was no way. Had I sleeped, walked, had I dreamed the whole thing. That type of confusion really sticks with you, makes you feel sick in your stomach. I tried to put off the situation for the next few days, counting the hours to get to go home, and stopped acting so awkward around everybody. But it wasn't until the following week, when we were back at church that the man who did the announcements told us that they had gotten more information about the incident at the campsite and that the topic would be discussed privately to the parents. At first, I thought it had been about me. Don't remember much about it now, and I've tried looking it up online, but I don't believe that many publications did a piece on what happened. A boy five year old named Matthew had gotten missing around the time, who had been there as a group. He was never found don't know what to make of this even now, and Marabella swears that what I had described to her never happened, that she had gone to sleep and was only woken up by the counselor and I Scary Story podcast is written and produced by me Edwin Coadrolis. If you have an idea for a story, send me an email. I'll leave it in the description of this episode. For true stories told by people who experienced them, search for my podcast called True Scary Story, but I would not listen alone. And for scary mysteries and haunted history, check out A Dark Memory. Be sure to save this podcast so that you can keep up to date with upcoming episodes. Thank you very much for listening, See us soon