It’s sometime in late august, early September 2006 (I can’t remember when precisely) at Ft. Knox, in a company for those who got injured during military basic training.
I had a friend there who was about 30 years old with the grayest hair you’d ever seen, almost like he was in his 70’s. Well, one day when there wasn’t much going on, he and I got to discussing the events in his life that’d brought him to this point.
He mentioned that he’d been a satanist, and showed me several upside-down crosses and other various satanic tattoo’s he’d had done. We also got to discussing his life in satanism, and he had quite a few interesting stories. The one that really stood out to me, and that I asked him to discuss most, was his tale of attending a satanic party once (Note: I make no judgment on this story, and instead simply try to make it as accurate as I can remember). Apparently during the course of this party, he met three men.
His description of them is foggy to me now, but the basics stand out – these were old men. I don’t mean that they were in their 80’s – more along the lines of these three men had been around for hundreds of years, yet still looked quite young and spry. These three men also had various… abilities – conjuring fire at will, making objects levitate, etc. The suggestion was also made that these men had the power to… affect people, even over great distances, and that because my friend had spoken with them before, they maintained some kind of link with him.
As we were talking, I noticed him growing progressively paler and weaker, and as he neared the end of his tale, he slowly stopped talking, looked at me, and asked me to get the drill sergeant on duty. I could visibly see that all the blood had drained from his face and he was having trouble breathing. I went downstairs and asked the D.S. to come up and take a look at my friend – he barked something at me along the lines of telling him to walk down there his damned self. Being the dutiful friend I am, I walked back upstairs to check on my friend and see if he could make it downstairs, and by this time all he could manage was a squeak to tell me that no, he couldn’t, and I needed to *hurry*… I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a look of stark fear in someone’s eyes.
I once again hurried downstairs, and this time managed to convince the drill sergeant that yes, my friend did need help and yes, I am an utter rear end in a top hat for daring to speak to you(tangent…). He goes upstairs, and by the time I show him to my friend, my friend is no longer breathing and is turning cyanotic (blue tinge to the skin). He immediately starts slapping him on the face and trying to get him to wake up, and once he realizes that he isn’t going to be able to he tells me to go downstairs and call 911.
Long story short, the ambulance gets there, rushes him off to the hospital after restarting his breathing and he doesn’t spend the night in the barracks that night. Sure, it’d be nice if my story ended there. But it doesn’t.
That night, I slept in his bed (for reasons that I have absolutely no desire to go into now, or ever, but that are crucial to this story). Every hour of every night, teams of two men patrol the 3 story barracks looking for fires. And every single pair of guards that night, without telling the guards before or after them what they saw, later reports to me that there was a sort of shadow standing in the middle of the small 4-man room where I was. This shadow was staring directly at the bed where my friend normally would have lain that night, and each guard reported that when they shined their light directly at the shadow it disappeared.
Later that morning, one of the other occupants on the room was found on the stairwell to the third floor (which in and of itself is a metric fuckton of stories, but I digress) gibbering to himself.
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