Everyone has a creepy story to tell, an encounter of sorts with the paranormal, and this post will be no different. The story of the black hand is what this is about and is the beginning of many encounters that I have experienced and will share with you my dear friends. I will present to you my interpretation one day, however, you may interpret as you wish, and I even ask for your feedback. Dear readers, please never hesitate to leave me your feedback, but please be respectful, and I promise to do the same. Now, on with one of my stories, true in its entirety. Draw from it what you will, leave what you don’t like, and expect more true experiences to come.

I was around five or six years old, the exact age is now a blur to me, but the events you are about to read, dear reader, are most true, and has remained with me all of my years. One night, as I lay in my half bed, my brother in another half bed across the room, I saw a dark hand rise from the side of my bed where it was almost against the wall. Now, as a kid, I should have been afraid, but at this time, I hadn’t learned of “monsters in the closet, and under your bed,” so the idea was strange, but somehow not frightening.

I looked at the hand for a few moments, that seemed like a long time. And for a kid it really is a long time. I debated, because I knew what it was waiting for, could feel its desires as it waited. I knew, that I was being asked to shake hands, without a single word being spoken, it had told me to shake hands. I reached out and shook the hand and immediately felt a peace I have yet to feel again. While I shook the hand, I felt this immense feeling of peace and at the same time understood it’s unspoken words that I had agreed to something, and for what the agreement was would be from that point in time on. I felt the peace, and at the same time, happiness, and courage that a six year old has when he has done something great and had received parental approvement.

The next morning, when I awoke, I told my mother and step-father about the incident, and to my surprise, they were extremely upset. Frantically, they searched the house to and fro, asking me the same questions repeatedly. Who was it? Did you see them? What color were they? Did they touch you? Did they hurt you? Where was your brother? Why didn’t you come get us? Did you know you could have been killed? On and on it went, until they had very satisfactorily embedded fear into me. Fear of the hand in the shadows. Fear of ever telling them how I felt when I shook hands with it. Fear of telling them the peace and yet somehow power when we agreed.

But the fear was short lived. I couldn’t overlook the peace I felt, or the self empowerment that I could express, or even the happiness of my then secret friend. I have never since had the opportunity to shake hands with that hand again, and somehow, even now, sometimes secretly wish to meet my unknown friend that shared so much power and happiness, even in the only few moments of a hand shake with the black hand.