As the weeks passed, things continued to get freakier in the house. Ghosts appeared more in the night; both animals and people, and one I can’t explain. The easiest way to explain it would be the Devil’s henchman, roaming around to collect souls. It was scary to think about, let alone see.
I would see the Devil’s henchman once or twice a week. My room would grow very cold, as the hairs on my body stood on end. Electronic devices would malfunction, becoming really staticky. Then the unworldly creature would pass through my room. I feared for my life and my family each time it passed through.
The henchman looked a lot like how you would imagine the Grim Reaper. He looked like a skeleton draped in a black cloak that tapered into tattered ends at the base. When he came through my room he appeared hungry, but when he left he appeared satisfied. It was as if he traveled to collect a soul and that put him at ease. Each night I would hear the screams of people after he went through my room, then total silence as he retreated. I knew the screams were those that he was collecting souls from.
Usually I stayed up to see if the henchman was coming, so the screams wouldn’t wake me up. Tonight was different; I didn’t stay awake to see the apparition travel through my room. I wasn’t even sure if it was going to venture through my room tonight and I was too exhausted to care. I fell into a light, dream filled sleep.
My room magically transformed to look like a bedroom straight from an old western movie. I even looked like I was from an old western, wearing a white frilly dress, hair tucked under a sunhat, and cowgirl boots. I looked like one of those girls that worked for the local bar in town. Dazed and confused I walked out of my room to the family living room. My dad sat on a stool in the corner of the room, cleaning his rifle.
“What’s goin’ on papa?”
“We’s a goin’ huntin’ child,”
“Huntin’? Fer what?” I asked, stunned at how I was talking.
“That maniac that done went an’ killed his family. Youngin’ did’ya ferget?”
“I did papa.” I hung my head as I followed my papa out the front door and down the dirt road.
Everyone surrounded the third trailer in the park. A man stood, chained, as a few men hung a noose from a huge oak tree.
“We the people sentence ye to death on four counts murder. Death by hanging is the final verdict,” a man wearing a sheriff’s attire said as he made the chained-up man climb up a ladder.
“He’ll come fer all of ye. Ye are all good as dead. Yer ‘ear?” the man shouted before his head was shoved in the noose and he was pushed from the ladder.
I woke up. I never have experienced a dream that felt so real. Never have I felt like I was there, nor have I ever witnessed a man being sentenced to death. The dream led me to question everything. Was a man really sentenced to be hung, because he murdered his family? Did this really happen in this neighborhood?
“This doesn’t make sense,” I wiped my sleep filled eyes as I booted my laptop up. I began searching, this time I found an old newspaper article on the murder and hanging in this neighborhood.
“I can’t believe it,” I sat staring at my computer as I clicked on another article, remembering that the landlord told us that our house used to belong to a woman that practiced witchcraft.
The article confirmed it. She was a Pagan witch that sacrificed animals to please the Pagan Gods. She was run out of the neighborhood, with another woman, never to return again. It was said she released spirits to feast off the weak and angry that lived in this neighborhood. These spirits prevented the people from leaving and from moving on. Also, it made them kill innocent people.
“Well that explains the murder, the animal fur in our stove, the possessed girl, and the blank stares from everyone here.” I said as I climbed out of bed, stretching, just as the sun began to peek through my window. I walked out of my room, heading for the kitchen.
“Morning, Sunshine,” my dad said, while trying to scrub the mirrors in the living room. Ever since we moved in, there had been a residue on the mirrors that wouldn’t come off.
“Dad, you can stop scrubbing. We’re leaving this place. Articles on the internet say we live in a Pagan witch’s house that used to sacrifice animals to please her Gods. So you’re scrubbing animal blood. And, that symbol in your closet is the portal that the woman made to curse this place. We need to move.”
“Yes, we know. Your mother is signing the paperwork for the new place today. We have to finish boxing up the house. I hate that we’re moving again as it’s only been three months living here. But we can’t continue to live in a place that’s trying to kill us. So go get your breakfast and help me get started.”
“Okay,” I said as I walked into the kitchen, grabbing my breakfast of cheese grits and liver mush. I ate quickly before going to help finish packing.
Hours passed as my dad and I packed up our lives. Packing is the worst thing in the world to do. Moving is ten times worse when you’re moving from a haunted house that wants to keep you at all costs. Every few minutes the spirits would move our tape or scissors. At one point they took a knife, from my mom, and positioned it to stab her. That was the final straw.
Dad packed our beds into his truck that night, and we began moving into the new house. It was no longer safe for my mom to enter the house; the spirits were trying to attack her, and were slowly coming after me. As my father and I carried out the last mattress, the spirit pushed me down the stairs. Amazingly, I kept my balance.
We loaded the mattresses and were out of there for the night. Tomorrow was Saturday, which meant we’d finish moving. It felt so peaceful to be leaving this fear infested place. A great weight lifted as we sped out of the neighborhood, heading to our new beginning.