Categories > Celebrities > Slipknot > The Day The Whole World Went Away
Disclaimer-I do not own Slipknot. This story is entirely fictional. I do not profit from these stories.
AUTHOR’S NOTE - This chapter is from a new character’s point of view, not Corey’s. Corey will be back again later.
I always wondered why I was picked to be the center of this phenomenon. I would sometimes imagine a crane game where you try and win a stuffed animal by guiding a metal claw to catch a prize. Except the plush animals is the bulk of humanity, and the claw is, well, whatever it is. Was I just sitting on the top of the pile of humans, just an easy target for an easy conquest? Or was it more difficult than a random pick? Was destiny at play, or was this purely coincidental?
I remember the first time I experienced it. I was only 5 years old at the time, still enjoying the pleasures of childhood and exploring without the type of hesitations that hold adults back. No insecurities, no issues, no self-awareness or social convictions—just childish ignorance, but that would change very quickly.
I had just been tucked in bed for the night by my mom, our nightly ritual. She’d sit beside me and read a Dr. Suess story—they were always my favorite. When she was done with a page she would allow me to turn it. There was no warning for how the night would proceed after our nightly routine. But then again, the water’s always calm before the onslaught of a hurricane.
She finished our book, closing it silently and telling me it’s time for sleep. I’d shuffle into my bed and she’d cover me with the sheets. Kiss my forehead and wish me sweet dreams. God, I wish it had been sweet dreams. And then she left, closing the door behind her, leaving it slightly ajar.
There was no moon outside that night which made my room even darker than usual. I was covered in dark silence, and soon I was hovering in between sleep and consciousness. But what happened that night changed everything, and to this day, it’s still so vivid in my mind. Every feeling, every bit of sweat falling from my forehead, every beat of my pounding heart—still fresh in my mind, so many decades later.
The sound of the door creaking is what brought me out of my near-sleep daze. I was curled on my side—my usual sleeping position—with my back facing the door. At first I thought it was just my mind conjuring strange half-asleep dreams, that perhaps it was just a product of my imagination. But as I was brought to full awareness, I heard the door creak more, as if it was being opened fully by somebody’s hand. Then there was silence again.
I didn’t move. I wasn’t sure if it would be my mother or father, or why they would come sneaking into my room late at night. My young mind automatically conjured up visions of burglars or intruders, masked kidnappers coming to take me away to God knows where. Fear locked my body and I found it impossible to move. I was frozen in my bed, my body locked in the fetal position.
After a few moments of silence, I somehow managed to work up the courage to use my voice. “Mom?” I whispered softly, still frozen in place. No answer. “Dad?” Still no answer. I wanted to turn and look, perhaps see for myself if there was some unwanted stranger in my room, but my body refused to move. I was too petrified to move a muscle.
As if the silence wasn’t disturbing enough, I then heard what seemed to be heavy footfalls across my bedroom floor behind me. I remember the very moment I heard that first, loud, thud. I let out a terrified gasp and then a whimper. By the next step, I began to shiver. My heart was racing in my chest. I could practically feel the blood pumping in my veins. Another step, then another, and another—it was approaching my bed. I felt tears sting my eyes, the first drop falling down my face.
Five footsteps, that was all. I heard nothing more after that. Still shivering, frozen, and terrified, I finally managed to call out for someone.
“Mom! Mom! There’s something in my room! Mom!” I cried out pathetically, still crying.
My mother yelled something, I heard the rustle from the other side of our house, and then she came running like a bull into my room. My body unlocked from its terror-induced immobilization, and I nearly jumped into a sitting position. She was staring back at me, looking terrified.
“What—What is it?!” She said, sounding out of breath.
I then looked around myself frantically. Nothing seemed out of place. There’s no possible way anyone could have gotten out of my room so fast. Nor could they have snuck out, due to the sound of their heavy footfalls. There would have been some audible evidence of their departure from my room, yet there was none. The stranger should have still been in my room. Needless to say, I was perplexed.
“There was someone here!” I answered quickly. “I heard them! They opened the door and I heard them walk in!”
My mother looked alarmed. She loved me dearly, and the idea of any stranger coming close to me threw her mind into chaos.
“Are you sure?” She asked sternly.
“Yes!” I sobbed, tears still streaming down my face.
She stayed silent for a moment, eyebrows furrowed together in worry and the corners of her lips turned downward. Finally, she reached out to me, a silent invitation to come to her. I was in her embrace quicker than the speed of light.
“Come, you can sleep in bed with us tonight.” She said, her voice comforting.
I followed her from my room and into my parents’ room. She gently tucked me into the center of the bed when my father stepped inside.
“Did you check the door?” My mother asked.
“Yeah, front and the back. They’re both locked.” My father answered, sounding tired and annoyed. “’Windows too. Probably just some nightmare.”
“See, honey?” my mother said, stroking my hair, “It as nothing. Maybe you were dreaming.”
“But I was awake! I heard it! I really did!”
My father only grumbled as he climbed into bed next to me. My mother looked concerned, and continued to stroke my hair back. “Just try to relax ok? We’ll be here next to you. I won’t let anything happen.”
I blinked at my mother, my savior. She slid into bed next to me and I clung to her tightly. She held me close, like she always did, trying to protect me from whatever childish anxieties that were haunting me. Still reeling from my experience, yet exhausted, I finally fell asleep. The safety of sleeping between my parents made things easier for the night, and my mother’s protective arms kept my fear at bay. But, unfortunately, my parents’ protection didn’t stop it from happening again.
-----
The next time it happened was when I was 8 years. Same room, same moonless kind of night. I was stirred awake by the sounds of creaks in my room. Still hazy from sleep, I opened my eyes and turned my head lazily towards the foot of my bed. My heart leapt into my throat when I noticed a tall, almost black shadow standing at there, seeming to watch me.
I froze, unable to move or tear my eyes away from the shadow. I whimpered lowly and clutched the sheets so hard that my knuckles turned white. The shadow didn’t move, not budging from its spot at the end of my bed. It was huge, the top of it nearly grazing the ceiling of my bedroom. I waited for it to do something, anything. I expected it to come closer, crawl over my bed, and devour me into some hellish world where children are taken.
In a surge of bravery, I quickly pulled the covers over my head and curled my body into a small ball. “Please go away, please go away, please go away, please please please please…” I uttered the words with my eyes clenched shut. After a few minutes of quiet mutters, I managed to peek my eyes over the top of my covers. The shadow had disappeared.
At this point, I was convinced that my house was haunted. There were more instances where this strange phenomenon occurred for me—footsteps, shadows, sometimes even poltergeist movements. These situations left me terrified of my own home. There were more than a few nights where I fell asleep with the light on in my room, or invited friends to stay over so I wouldn’t have to be alone.
Oddly enough, my parents never seemed to experience any of the things I had. I once queried my mother about it, not long after the ghostly appearances seem to occur on a regular basis. I was 10, and I had just come home from school. The night before was a sleepless one, due to our supernatural visitor. My mother was sitting at the kitchen table with a newspaper. I sat down next to her silently.
“Hey Mom? Do you think our house is haunted?”
My mom dropped her paper and looked at me like I just said I wanted to run away and join the circus. “Haunted? You mean with ghosts?”
“Um, yeah…With ghosts.”
She shook her head slowly. “No…What makes you think it’s haunted?”
Looking away from her, I sighed and shrugged slightly. I didn’t speak any further on the subject, since I found it kind of embarrassing in the first place. No 10-year-old boy wanted to admit he thought his house was haunted. I never asked my father about it, since the man intimidated me more than anything. He’d probably laugh at me, and I knew I couldn’t handle that kind of humiliation.
As I became certain of the haunting in our home, I began to anticipate the chance to finally move out. I would join the choruses of boys who bitched about their home-lives, and how they couldn’t wait to get their own place. I too wanted to get out of my home, but not for the independence. I never admitted that to the guys, nor did I admit it to anyone, that the real reason for my shitty home-life was because of a ghost.
When I turned the age of 17, I finally planned my move from home. I got an apartment in the city with a couple other friends who were just as eager to strike out on their own as me. I remember that sigh of relief I took when I dropped the last of my things into my new abode. Now I was free to fend for myself, buy my own alcohol, have my own parties, have my own responsibilities, and no more ghosts.
I settled down into my new apartment, enjoying my new independence and freedom with my friends. I got jobs here and there, never lasting at one for longer than a few months. I managed to accumulate enough money for our rent, food, and alcohol that we had an older buddy get since we weren’t 21 yet. We had parties every weekend—we were living the life, that’s for certain.
I thought I had ended my ties with the ghost. I thought I had seen the last of it. I thought that I could finally sleep at night without fear that I would be visited by the supernatural. Unfortunately I was wrong.
It happened again late one night after another wild party. There was a rather attractive girl next to me in bed. I was intending to get lucky that night with her, stumbling drunkenly into my room and falling into a heap of bodies onto my bed. She ended up passing out the moment I slid my hands under her shirt, and my hopes were ended. Being somewhat of a gentleman, I didn’t take advantage of her. I let her take my bed while I grabbed an extra blanket and tried to make myself comfortable on the floor of my room.
Sleep didn’t come easy to me since the floor was hard and the carpet was rough. I was still trying to fall asleep when, after shifting onto my side to get comfortable, I noticed a familiar shadow standing near me. I shot upward into a sitting position, left completely terrified and slightly dumbfounded. I could feel my heart sink when I noticed that it was the same height, same build, and same dark shade as the one from my old home. Still slightly drunk, hopeless anger began to set in.
“You fucker! Leave me the fuck alone!” I yelled, jumping up and running at the apparition. It followed me. The fucking thing followed me!
Had I been sober, I might have realized that charging at a ghost wouldn’t solve anything. The shadow disappeared as I passed through the spot it had been, and I suddenly felt a sharp pain in my left hand. I cried out and sunk down onto the floor, feeling tears form in my eyes. I couldn’t believe it. Weren’t ghost supposed to haunt one place? Why was it here?
Only moments later did the door to my room burst open, revealing one of my roommates. “What the hell, dude? What the fuck’s goin’ on?” He sounded drunk. He was joined by my other roommate, and they knelt down beside me.
“It followed me, it followed me, it followed me…” I repeated softly with tears in my eyes. I was clutching my left hand tightly as I rocked back and forth on the floor.
“Christ, what did you do to your hand?” I heard one of them say, grabbing my bleeding appendage. There was a long cut on my palm, surrounded by a bruise. They then helped me stand and led me to the bathroom so they could patch up my hand. Luckily one of the girls at the party was in school to be a nurse and she helped clean and bandage it. I ended up passing out on the couch that night, curled into a ball and mumbling the same sentence over and over again. “It followed me, it fucking followed me…”
-----
I moved out of the apartment a few days later. My roommates were pissed and I had to break the lease, but I didn’t care. I just knew I could no longer stay there.
I got a new single person apartment to stay in—and much to my dismay, the familiar entity had followed me once again. Not only that, but I began to realize that it was hostile. It left a cut on my hand that night at my old apartment, which meant it had the power to hurt me. I wasn’t near any object that could have left that kind of cut on my hand and it terrified me beyond comprehension.
It still haunted me too, more frequently now. I would see it standing near my bed, hear it walking in my apartment, and sense it standing over me as I lie in bed. The feeling of fear it left me with turned into numbness. I expected it. I let it win.
I never again told anybody about my ghost. When people would stay over at my apartment I would ignore its presence. I didn’t know what else to do, so I tried to get used to it, just as long as it would hurt me again. I knew it wasn’t friendly, so I no longer made a point to confront it. I was its prisoner, it was my captor.
AUTHOR’S NOTE - This chapter is from a new character’s point of view, not Corey’s. Corey will be back again later.
I always wondered why I was picked to be the center of this phenomenon. I would sometimes imagine a crane game where you try and win a stuffed animal by guiding a metal claw to catch a prize. Except the plush animals is the bulk of humanity, and the claw is, well, whatever it is. Was I just sitting on the top of the pile of humans, just an easy target for an easy conquest? Or was it more difficult than a random pick? Was destiny at play, or was this purely coincidental?
I remember the first time I experienced it. I was only 5 years old at the time, still enjoying the pleasures of childhood and exploring without the type of hesitations that hold adults back. No insecurities, no issues, no self-awareness or social convictions—just childish ignorance, but that would change very quickly.
I had just been tucked in bed for the night by my mom, our nightly ritual. She’d sit beside me and read a Dr. Suess story—they were always my favorite. When she was done with a page she would allow me to turn it. There was no warning for how the night would proceed after our nightly routine. But then again, the water’s always calm before the onslaught of a hurricane.
She finished our book, closing it silently and telling me it’s time for sleep. I’d shuffle into my bed and she’d cover me with the sheets. Kiss my forehead and wish me sweet dreams. God, I wish it had been sweet dreams. And then she left, closing the door behind her, leaving it slightly ajar.
There was no moon outside that night which made my room even darker than usual. I was covered in dark silence, and soon I was hovering in between sleep and consciousness. But what happened that night changed everything, and to this day, it’s still so vivid in my mind. Every feeling, every bit of sweat falling from my forehead, every beat of my pounding heart—still fresh in my mind, so many decades later.
The sound of the door creaking is what brought me out of my near-sleep daze. I was curled on my side—my usual sleeping position—with my back facing the door. At first I thought it was just my mind conjuring strange half-asleep dreams, that perhaps it was just a product of my imagination. But as I was brought to full awareness, I heard the door creak more, as if it was being opened fully by somebody’s hand. Then there was silence again.
I didn’t move. I wasn’t sure if it would be my mother or father, or why they would come sneaking into my room late at night. My young mind automatically conjured up visions of burglars or intruders, masked kidnappers coming to take me away to God knows where. Fear locked my body and I found it impossible to move. I was frozen in my bed, my body locked in the fetal position.
After a few moments of silence, I somehow managed to work up the courage to use my voice. “Mom?” I whispered softly, still frozen in place. No answer. “Dad?” Still no answer. I wanted to turn and look, perhaps see for myself if there was some unwanted stranger in my room, but my body refused to move. I was too petrified to move a muscle.
As if the silence wasn’t disturbing enough, I then heard what seemed to be heavy footfalls across my bedroom floor behind me. I remember the very moment I heard that first, loud, thud. I let out a terrified gasp and then a whimper. By the next step, I began to shiver. My heart was racing in my chest. I could practically feel the blood pumping in my veins. Another step, then another, and another—it was approaching my bed. I felt tears sting my eyes, the first drop falling down my face.
Five footsteps, that was all. I heard nothing more after that. Still shivering, frozen, and terrified, I finally managed to call out for someone.
“Mom! Mom! There’s something in my room! Mom!” I cried out pathetically, still crying.
My mother yelled something, I heard the rustle from the other side of our house, and then she came running like a bull into my room. My body unlocked from its terror-induced immobilization, and I nearly jumped into a sitting position. She was staring back at me, looking terrified.
“What—What is it?!” She said, sounding out of breath.
I then looked around myself frantically. Nothing seemed out of place. There’s no possible way anyone could have gotten out of my room so fast. Nor could they have snuck out, due to the sound of their heavy footfalls. There would have been some audible evidence of their departure from my room, yet there was none. The stranger should have still been in my room. Needless to say, I was perplexed.
“There was someone here!” I answered quickly. “I heard them! They opened the door and I heard them walk in!”
My mother looked alarmed. She loved me dearly, and the idea of any stranger coming close to me threw her mind into chaos.
“Are you sure?” She asked sternly.
“Yes!” I sobbed, tears still streaming down my face.
She stayed silent for a moment, eyebrows furrowed together in worry and the corners of her lips turned downward. Finally, she reached out to me, a silent invitation to come to her. I was in her embrace quicker than the speed of light.
“Come, you can sleep in bed with us tonight.” She said, her voice comforting.
I followed her from my room and into my parents’ room. She gently tucked me into the center of the bed when my father stepped inside.
“Did you check the door?” My mother asked.
“Yeah, front and the back. They’re both locked.” My father answered, sounding tired and annoyed. “’Windows too. Probably just some nightmare.”
“See, honey?” my mother said, stroking my hair, “It as nothing. Maybe you were dreaming.”
“But I was awake! I heard it! I really did!”
My father only grumbled as he climbed into bed next to me. My mother looked concerned, and continued to stroke my hair back. “Just try to relax ok? We’ll be here next to you. I won’t let anything happen.”
I blinked at my mother, my savior. She slid into bed next to me and I clung to her tightly. She held me close, like she always did, trying to protect me from whatever childish anxieties that were haunting me. Still reeling from my experience, yet exhausted, I finally fell asleep. The safety of sleeping between my parents made things easier for the night, and my mother’s protective arms kept my fear at bay. But, unfortunately, my parents’ protection didn’t stop it from happening again.
-----
The next time it happened was when I was 8 years. Same room, same moonless kind of night. I was stirred awake by the sounds of creaks in my room. Still hazy from sleep, I opened my eyes and turned my head lazily towards the foot of my bed. My heart leapt into my throat when I noticed a tall, almost black shadow standing at there, seeming to watch me.
I froze, unable to move or tear my eyes away from the shadow. I whimpered lowly and clutched the sheets so hard that my knuckles turned white. The shadow didn’t move, not budging from its spot at the end of my bed. It was huge, the top of it nearly grazing the ceiling of my bedroom. I waited for it to do something, anything. I expected it to come closer, crawl over my bed, and devour me into some hellish world where children are taken.
In a surge of bravery, I quickly pulled the covers over my head and curled my body into a small ball. “Please go away, please go away, please go away, please please please please…” I uttered the words with my eyes clenched shut. After a few minutes of quiet mutters, I managed to peek my eyes over the top of my covers. The shadow had disappeared.
At this point, I was convinced that my house was haunted. There were more instances where this strange phenomenon occurred for me—footsteps, shadows, sometimes even poltergeist movements. These situations left me terrified of my own home. There were more than a few nights where I fell asleep with the light on in my room, or invited friends to stay over so I wouldn’t have to be alone.
Oddly enough, my parents never seemed to experience any of the things I had. I once queried my mother about it, not long after the ghostly appearances seem to occur on a regular basis. I was 10, and I had just come home from school. The night before was a sleepless one, due to our supernatural visitor. My mother was sitting at the kitchen table with a newspaper. I sat down next to her silently.
“Hey Mom? Do you think our house is haunted?”
My mom dropped her paper and looked at me like I just said I wanted to run away and join the circus. “Haunted? You mean with ghosts?”
“Um, yeah…With ghosts.”
She shook her head slowly. “No…What makes you think it’s haunted?”
Looking away from her, I sighed and shrugged slightly. I didn’t speak any further on the subject, since I found it kind of embarrassing in the first place. No 10-year-old boy wanted to admit he thought his house was haunted. I never asked my father about it, since the man intimidated me more than anything. He’d probably laugh at me, and I knew I couldn’t handle that kind of humiliation.
As I became certain of the haunting in our home, I began to anticipate the chance to finally move out. I would join the choruses of boys who bitched about their home-lives, and how they couldn’t wait to get their own place. I too wanted to get out of my home, but not for the independence. I never admitted that to the guys, nor did I admit it to anyone, that the real reason for my shitty home-life was because of a ghost.
When I turned the age of 17, I finally planned my move from home. I got an apartment in the city with a couple other friends who were just as eager to strike out on their own as me. I remember that sigh of relief I took when I dropped the last of my things into my new abode. Now I was free to fend for myself, buy my own alcohol, have my own parties, have my own responsibilities, and no more ghosts.
I settled down into my new apartment, enjoying my new independence and freedom with my friends. I got jobs here and there, never lasting at one for longer than a few months. I managed to accumulate enough money for our rent, food, and alcohol that we had an older buddy get since we weren’t 21 yet. We had parties every weekend—we were living the life, that’s for certain.
I thought I had ended my ties with the ghost. I thought I had seen the last of it. I thought that I could finally sleep at night without fear that I would be visited by the supernatural. Unfortunately I was wrong.
It happened again late one night after another wild party. There was a rather attractive girl next to me in bed. I was intending to get lucky that night with her, stumbling drunkenly into my room and falling into a heap of bodies onto my bed. She ended up passing out the moment I slid my hands under her shirt, and my hopes were ended. Being somewhat of a gentleman, I didn’t take advantage of her. I let her take my bed while I grabbed an extra blanket and tried to make myself comfortable on the floor of my room.
Sleep didn’t come easy to me since the floor was hard and the carpet was rough. I was still trying to fall asleep when, after shifting onto my side to get comfortable, I noticed a familiar shadow standing near me. I shot upward into a sitting position, left completely terrified and slightly dumbfounded. I could feel my heart sink when I noticed that it was the same height, same build, and same dark shade as the one from my old home. Still slightly drunk, hopeless anger began to set in.
“You fucker! Leave me the fuck alone!” I yelled, jumping up and running at the apparition. It followed me. The fucking thing followed me!
Had I been sober, I might have realized that charging at a ghost wouldn’t solve anything. The shadow disappeared as I passed through the spot it had been, and I suddenly felt a sharp pain in my left hand. I cried out and sunk down onto the floor, feeling tears form in my eyes. I couldn’t believe it. Weren’t ghost supposed to haunt one place? Why was it here?
Only moments later did the door to my room burst open, revealing one of my roommates. “What the hell, dude? What the fuck’s goin’ on?” He sounded drunk. He was joined by my other roommate, and they knelt down beside me.
“It followed me, it followed me, it followed me…” I repeated softly with tears in my eyes. I was clutching my left hand tightly as I rocked back and forth on the floor.
“Christ, what did you do to your hand?” I heard one of them say, grabbing my bleeding appendage. There was a long cut on my palm, surrounded by a bruise. They then helped me stand and led me to the bathroom so they could patch up my hand. Luckily one of the girls at the party was in school to be a nurse and she helped clean and bandage it. I ended up passing out on the couch that night, curled into a ball and mumbling the same sentence over and over again. “It followed me, it fucking followed me…”
-----
I moved out of the apartment a few days later. My roommates were pissed and I had to break the lease, but I didn’t care. I just knew I could no longer stay there.
I got a new single person apartment to stay in—and much to my dismay, the familiar entity had followed me once again. Not only that, but I began to realize that it was hostile. It left a cut on my hand that night at my old apartment, which meant it had the power to hurt me. I wasn’t near any object that could have left that kind of cut on my hand and it terrified me beyond comprehension.
It still haunted me too, more frequently now. I would see it standing near my bed, hear it walking in my apartment, and sense it standing over me as I lie in bed. The feeling of fear it left me with turned into numbness. I expected it. I let it win.
I never again told anybody about my ghost. When people would stay over at my apartment I would ignore its presence. I didn’t know what else to do, so I tried to get used to it, just as long as it would hurt me again. I knew it wasn’t friendly, so I no longer made a point to confront it. I was its prisoner, it was my captor.
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