History of My Hell
I've been having problems lately. Actually, it seems like forever. Ever since I was eight years old. I've lived in the same house for a very long time. Yes, my mother was never really good about raising me, so my grandmother did it. But this house, my family line, and what we're known for -- it pulls together.
The house I live in use to be a nursing home back in the late 1800's to the mid 1900's. People have died here. And now it's coming back to me. Like it was my fault they died. I wake up in the middle of the night with bruises and hand prints. Not just because of the spirits that roam this house, but also the spirits and the demon that roam my dream world. On my eighth birthday that, yes, I spent with my grandmother, was fairly harsh. I had this dream about a man. I could never see his face, yet he was gentle.
His eyes, so calm. Green, almost jade. And they never left my sight. I can remember his words. His icy cold fingers. And his laugh. I was very sick the next morning. And he continuously came back until I was eleven. Then it all started again on my thirteenth birthday. And that's also when spirits began talking to me, and being more abusive.
On my fourteenth birthday, I woke up with the most ominous bruise and tons of claw marks from an unknown source. And going to school was unbearable. The shrinks asked if my grandmother abused me. And I could only laugh in their faces. Then everything got worse.
When I was ten or so, my best friend Cenna and I were stupid enough to go to a cemetery with a Ouija board. And we ran out screaming, leaving the Ouija board sitting there. The reason why we ran out of the grave yard screaming is because someone was chasing us out. We could hear it's roaring, and panting. A demon -- which is what the priest had told us.
A week or so later, Cenna was placed in an institution. I never heard from her again until my thirteenth birthday. The same day I woke up with a horrible sickness. She called the exact moment I had awoken. Her voice was cold and angry. She told me that the same demon that institutionalized her was in my house, watching me. My every move, my every step. He even listened to my breathing. And that is also the reason I had gotten sick.
She told me she was in Maryland. And her mother ran into the room, ripping the phone from her hands and began yelling at me. "You did this to her! You did this to my Cenna! How could you!?" And she hung up on me.
I stared at the wall for hours upon hours that day, wishing everything would just stop. Regretting every little mistake I had made two years ago.
And now, Cenna is dead. She called me... just three weeks ago. Telling me to be careful. To stay away from Hummel Park and the grave yard we went to. To watch my back, to never leave my house without the rosary I had gotten from my friend. I have no idea how she knew about the cross, but I didn't want to know. She told me to be cautious. And never to step inside Hummel Park again.
And now -- the demon we saw and heard... the spirits of the murdered children of Hummel Park, and Cenna herself, have been haunting me. Beating me in my sleep. Some times, I stay awake for a week at a time. Going to school, trying not to sleep in class.
Two weeks after Cenna's phone call, I knew she was dead. Something told me. I had no idea where she called me from. All I know is that it was a pay phone. She had never used pay phones. She was running from someone or something.
I woke up with her hand print on my stomach that morning. And bite marks everywhere. Claw marks that claimed the flesh on my back as it's own.
And as for Cenna's warning -- I will not listen. I will simply see why she wants me to stay away from those places of eerie history.