Brain Captures

          Once upon a time, there was a sweater. Just a simple, old and raggedy sweater that no one ever thought to look twice at---except for me. The sweater used to be, what I could imagine, a bright and creamy white, which had now long since faded to a yellowish khaki color, strings of yarn unraveling everywhere and anywhere. But there were also dark red designs, looking like nothing in particular, that seemed to move if you stared at them for too long. Most just shake it off and then forget it a second after, but not me. I am convinced that there is something evil about that sweater. Those random designs seemingly painted on? Stains. Bloody stains. Each about the size of a fingernail. The previous wearer never even attempted to wash the stains out. Well, washed out---no; but you could see the obvious fade compared to the freshest stain---so fresh, in fact, that it looked like if you touched it, that fresh blood would go on and transfer right on to your fingertips. Now I know this is not a normal sweater. Is it just coincidental that whoever wears it ends up missing and never seen again? And that the next time someone wears that sweater, there is a new, fresh, bloody stain? You may think that this is just a story that camp counselors tell to spook their campers, or a small-town story that is used to drag in tourists on the holidays---and you’d be wrong. Camp counselors have no knowledge of this horrific tale, nor is this a small town---at least it wasn’t before the sweater. Three-hundred and twelve people have disappeared within the last year. Just yesterday, I saw my friend wearing this sweater, they were reported missing before the last light. Today, I woke up. This very sweater hanging on a hook above my dresser. It has returned home to me at last.