The Hearne Ave Horror (San Antonio, TX)
“When I was seven years old, my family moved into a new home in San Antonio. It was on Hearne Ave.
I won’t give the address to protect the privacy of people living in the neighborhood. The house was huge compared to our old house, so we all enjoyed the move. I was the last to move in, I spent the last night in the old house with my older brother. I remember we found my sister’s comic book collection, and we read those all night.
Anyhow, we moved into the new house, and I’m gonna take a bit of time to get to the story, because I want you all to have a better picture of the house and the street we lived on. There was something odd, not just about the house, but the whole neighborhood and the people living there.
The western next door neighbors moved out of their house about two weeks after we arrived. My two oldest brothers broke into their house and said they found a lot of books on witchcraft. I saw of the few of the books, but never looked at them, and my mother had them burn the books.
One thing about the new house that was weird, but that I never thought about much because it happened so often, was that the dishes rattled. They rattled all the time, and it happened so much, I assumed the dish holder wasn’t very sturdy. It wasn’t until many, many years later after we left that house that I noticed dishes didn’t just rattle.
Another thing that some saw was a shadow person. Several people saw him, but the most significant was my mom. One night the shadow man opened her bedroom door and stared at her. She was in bed, and assumed it was my oldest brother’s silhouette. The shadow moved from her door, went to the bathroom, and flushed. The next day my mom discovered my brother had spent the night at his girlfriend’s mom’s couch.
There were rumors that the neighbors across the street also practiced witchcraft. I remember everytime there was a neighborhood football pot, they won every single time. EVERY SINGLE TIME.
So now let me get to the scary ass shit part of this story.
I had become really good friends with the people in the neighborhood, many of the children went to school with me. We’d been living there 2 or 3 years when this one boy moved in down the street. No one saw his family move in, but at the time no one thought it odd. He would hang with us when we played.
We never saw his family, they never had vehicles in the drive. I did one time see his sister, a little girl in an off white dress, but my friend rushed her inside before I could get close. One time I went to his house to look for him, knocked on his door, he answered. He only cracked the door, but the inside of the house was pitch black.
This is hardly the weirdest thing about this boy.
One day I was playing with him, and he took me to his back yard.
-“Let’s play a game,” he told me.
-“Sure, what do you have mind?”
-“I bet you if we dig around that tree (in his backyard), we’ll find three dead bodies.”
I played it cool, told him I didn’t want to play that game and made excuses to head home.
Weeks later, I invited him over to my place to play a shooting game I’d received for my birthday. One of those games where you shoot at a moving light. It was getting dark and my mom made us dinner. After dinner, the boy would not leave. My mom tried sending him home and he threw a fit, wanting to play the game longer. Eventually he left, but after much cajoling.
Soon after he left, our house started smelling of rotten egg. I remember having to stay up late searching the whole house for a dead mouse. We found nothing and my mom was up to her ears in cleaning. Finally, she went around blessing the house with holy water. Guess what? Yeah, the scent went away.
A few weeks later, I went outside and the boy was hanging out with our front neighbor (an older boy, probably in late middle school or early high school). The older boy encouraged us to fight. I kept refusing, but the other boy insisted. Eventually, I gave in and fought him. I wasn’t very enthusiastic, and he won.
The next day, I went to play with my friends who lived across the street from the strange boy. When the boy tried to join us, my friends refused. They explained that they saw the fight, and they saw how I was trying to not fight him, but that he insisted. So he was not allowed to play with us.
When I was done, I was walking home. The strange boy was waiting for me in his yard. He was all smiles and invited me to his garage. When we got there his attitude changed, and he pulled a small knife out on me.
“I should have killed you when I had the chance,” he told me.
I don’t recall what I said, but I remember playing it cool once again, like I wasn’t scared. Somehow I talked my way out of it and went home.
A few days later the boy was gone. Again, no one saw anyone move out, they just disappeared
I’ve often thought of going back and digging up that tree, but wouldn’t want to scare the present residents, especially if I found something.” George I.
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