39. [deleted]

I used to have night terrors when I was around 2. Vivid nightmares that involved walking and talking in my sleep. Consequently, I often spent the night in my parents bed. One time my mom woke up and saw that I was missing. She found me standing in the living room. She tried to pick me up but I backed away and screamed, “Wash the blood off your hands!”

Said it creeped her the fuck out.

40. kimdealz

My son was 3 when I was tucking him into bed one night and he said, “Mommy what’s that big thing?” I replied, “What thing, baby?” THEN HE SAID “That big thing right behind you”

I knew there was nothing right behind me but a wall, I just did the scumbag mom thing and backed out of the room and shut the door. He wasn’t scared of ‘that big thing’ but I sure as hell was… creepy kids!

41. kelleysarah7

I was the kid, my mom told me this story once I was older. My great grandfather died, and because I was so young no one told me. My mom took me to his grave a few weeks after it happened, and let me play amongst the gravestones while she lay flowers. As we were leaving, I stopped and asked “why is great grandpa sitting in the tree?” I then pointed to what appeared to my mom as an empty tree, and waved. The tree was planted so the branches hung right above where he was buried. TL; DR: Pointed out my great grandfather to my mother without knowing he had died.

42. challengereality

Not my kid, but the kid I was babysitting. And perhaps more sad than frightening.

I used to babysit two brothers, one was 9, the other 4. The 4-year-old was a pretty typical kid, while the 9-year-old was really distant and sometimes downright cruel. He would flip out at his younger brother (physically and verbally) for the smallest things and would laugh if the younger hurt himself, etc. It was tough mediating between them, and the parents seemed oblivious to how much the older brother loathed the younger. I figured the age difference was really all it was, but sometimes I sensed a real hatred radiating from the older brother.

So one day at the playground the 4-year-old’s friend comes up and says the younger brother has been telling everyone, ‘My brother is a killer!’

I pull the 4-year-old aside and say, ‘Hey, it isn’t nice to tell your friends that your older brother is a killer.’

To which he dispassionatly responds, ‘But he is a killer. He kills me every day.’ It was like the younger had given up. Really disconcerting to see a 4-year-old so…. I dunno, hopeless.