Creepypastas

The Farnsworth Experiments

"How much did you hear?" He asked. I replied,

"We were there for maybe five minutes."

He told us to sit down at the table. We went back to the dining room. Bill Benson sat too, taking some old notebooks off the seat of his chair and putting them on top of the cluttered side of the table. Dad took a deep breath and started to speak,

"Kate, Robert, I have some things I need to explain."

He seemed to be very shaken up, but he was pushing through it to the best of his ability.

"You know how I've said I worked on the Farnsworth experiments when you both were really little. When I told you we failed, that was a lie. It worked, better than anyone could have expected. But there was a problem. A big problem. And now we don't talk about it, we think about it as little as we can, and we never go back. That's why we moved away from Albany. Now Bill's problem is he went back. He shouldn't have. We can't get ourselves back involved."

He looked at me and my sister.

"For your own good, don't try any detective work. Live like I live, live like nothing ever happened. Those of us who ignore the past are fine. Now we are going to eat dessert like nothing happened. And we're going to forget, OK?"

I nodded, though my head was filling with questions. Bill looked over at dad and said.

"I can't just leave it like this, I tried for years. We have to find the ones they took. Emily might be out there, don't you want to find her."

Dad said,

"My wife is dead, she died in a car accident."

Bill started to speak, but dad cut him off.

"If you want to stay for desert, stay. But if try to dredge things up that are meant to be forgotten, than you're not welcome in my house.

I had never seen dad act like this before. Bill looked at him and said,

"I'm sorry John."

He got up and walked through the adjoining living room and out the door, into the light snow. Dad took a deep breath and didn't speak for maybe a minute. The he spoke,

"I'm sorry you had to see that, there's nothing to worry about. I'll get out the pumpkin pie.

We ate in pie in silence.

A few weeks later, after I had gotten over the shock of that night, I did some research on Bill Benson. At first I couldn't find anything referencing him from within the past ten years. I found an old webpage for a university that listed a William C. Benson as a professor. The photo was definitely him. I ran the photo of him through face recognition and found two matches. The first was old. In it were five people, some in lab coats. Benson was on the left, looking much younger. His hair was neat. He was wearing street clothes, also neat. On the right were two women I didn't recognize. They were the oldest of the group. In the middle were my parents. Dad, who looked nearly the same as after all those years, and mom, who I only remember from pictures. Above them was a banner saying Happy New Year '85. The photo was taken a few months after I was born. I saved it. I then opened the second match. This picture of Benson must have been more recent. He looked like he had on thanksgiving, but older. His hair was grayer and longer. The photo had been taken in the dark with a flash, making the background hard to make out. The thing that struck me most about that picture was the look of absolute terror on his face. I closed the photo quickly. I saved it too. I then noticed that they came from the same source. It was a blog with the two photos as the only posts. There were no dates posted on posts. Whoever made the blog must have disabled them from showing.