The Life which precedes me

January 20, 2011
By Kitch BRONZE, Levittown, Pennsylvania
Kitch BRONZE, Levittown, Pennsylvania
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

Favorite Quote:
Writing is freedom, it enables me to live where ever, when ever, and most importantly how ever i choose to.

I’ve been driving for a few hours now, getting tired. I turned down this old dirt road about an hour ago. The address the old man gave me was written with a faded pen, I could barely read it. I can finally see the house in the distance, I’m about three hours out of Boston and I’ve finally made it. The house is enormous, surrounded by fields overgrown with tall grass and weeds. The house it self is dark and appears ancient with huge white pillars in the front of the house overgrown with veins traveling all the way to the summit of the peak of the front gable. The windows are musty; the door is aged with chipping paint. The house is probably a few hundred years old. This house holds secrets, old and dark secrets. It has a weird feel to it, like almost as if the house knew something that I did not.
A park my car in the front circular driveway surrounding a garden. The place is in bad shape but I still can’t believe the old man hired me to watch the mansion for the next few months. It can’t even perceive it as habitable but it must be important to him to pay me this much just to keep an eye on it. It almost seems as if it was his secret, that no one knew of this place and he wanted to keep it that way. I didn’t care. I walked up the steps of the front porch, attempting to not fall through the eroded wooden planks as I stepped. The porch was dirty and covered in leaves and dirt. I approached the door. I had a strange feeling of anxiety, I felt that I had been here before; I feared what I would discover behind the door. I open it; I step into the front foyer room and look around. The ceiling is most likely around eleven to twelve feet, a chandelier hanging in the center. The house is mostly empty, covered in dust and littered with broken furniture. I have no idea how I’m going to live in this house for the next few months, but I will try my best. I walk up the stairs holding on to the banister that is barely stable enough to support my weight. Being upstairs causes me to feel even more uneasy, I fear that ill fall strait through the floor. I walk down the dusty hallway to the first room on the left. I see an empty room covered in cobwebs and containing almost no furniture. In the corner there is musty cot with a small blanket and no pillow. Besides a small end table the room is empty. I continue my lonely self guided tour of the house, the rest of the rooms are all pretty much the same, dark and dusty., even though most of the rooms where completely empty this house seemed to hold so much mystery. I needed to find where id be sleeping. I walk to the master bedroom on the third floor, through a massive loft into a small entrance way. Oddly enough this room is some what decent in its appearance. The bed was not made, but the sheets and blankets where all clean. The floor boards creaked as I stepped on them and the windows were musty and yellow, barely allowing any light in the room. The air was thicker in this room then it was in the entire house. it was hard to breathe this heavy air I could taste the mold in the air. Sadly this is where I will be sleeping.

It’s getting dark now; it’s about seven thirty when it begins to rain. I turn on the lights out on the front porch; I left the rest of the house dark, downstairs I could barely see my own hand in front of my face. Its late so I decide to turn in, as I walk up the stairs everything goes to complete silence. I have never heard such a distinct sound of darkness in my life. It was if the house was listening to me, monitoring my every move. I feel as if its eyes follow me to bed. I get changed, get into bed, surprisingly I fall asleep relatively fast.

It’s a loud banging, it won’t stop, it sounds that perhaps a door in the house is open and the storm is having its way with it. I jump from the bed reaching for my shoes. I stumble to the wall beside the door, I slowly perch my head on the side trim of the threshold of the room. I look down the hallway, nothing is there. I can literally hear my heart racing; I can barely even stand as I creep down the hallway. I’m completely and utterly terrified. The noise is growing louder; with each step I take I can hear the load banging even more clearly. I am certain that it is not my imagination, it can’t be. I walk down the stairs now; I can hear it coming from the kitchen towards the back of the house. I slowly pace toward the kitchen, practically on my toes trying to prepare myself for what or whom ever I may encounter. I’m ready, I know it, I know that IL be able to handle it. I’m here; I turn the corner as fast as I can! I run in the room swinging! I stop. No one is here. I see the back kitchen door wide open, just as I predicted, blowing in the wind. I feel as if I were a fool standing alone thinking of something horrible happening when nothing is happening at all. I laugh to myself as I close the door. I turn to go back upstairs, and that’s when I feel it. It’s cold and pasty, I can feel it in-between my toes and on the bottom of my bare feet. I begin to panic, I can barely see but I can tell that the puddle is huge. I stumble around to find the light. I flip the switch, and there it is a huge pool of blood colleting in the center of the room. I am in shock. I can barely breathe; my heart is beating a mile a minute. I attempt to gather my thoughts; I have no idea what to think! AHA, I’ve got it; I need to discover the blood’s source. I need to find out where it has come from. I begin to investigate; I intricately study the pool until I see a tributary of the blood running into the hallway. I follow it to the basement door. Now I cannot hold on to a rational thought for more than a minute before the terror overcomes me. I run and grab my baseball bat from under the bed. When I arrive back down stairs, I'm even more terrified than before. I can’t believe I’m about to do this. I open the door, I flip the switch, and I slowly begin my agonizing decent. When I find myself standing at the bottom of the stairs I discover larger puddles of blood leading towards the back of the basement. This room was terrifying. Entirely empty yet full of so much mystery, the room was dusty and contained nothing but an old rocking chair sitting next to a wooden chest. The blood takes me to this chest in the farther confines of the room. I can’t do it; I don’t know how I’m going to open this chest. I ready myself. My trembling hand reached for the handle. I’m about to do it. I swing the lead open! I fall over landing on my back, Ahhhhh; I let out a load shriek. I feel sick; I lean over and vomit all over the floor. I finally muster the energy to once again look upon his face, the hideous dead face of the rotting corpse stuffed into the chest. How did he get there, who was he? I had no idea how to answer my own questions. But the only one I was concerned about was who had put him there? I searched the entire house for two hours, I was completely alone. The assailant must have entered through the back kitchen door and exited through the same entry leaving the door open when he or she left. I spend the next three hours lugging the chest up the stairs and out the back door towards the marsh down by the water; I pulled the chest as far out and deep in in as possible. I left him there, watching him sink for a minute or so, standing in the knee deep mud I thought to myself. Ironically I did not think of the incident that had just befallen me but of my boots. I was wondering why when I had went to get my brand new boots from the car they had already been opened and covered in mud, as if someone had already used them

I awake fully clothed, lying in my mud ridden bed. If it was for the undisputable evidence, I would have assumed last night to have been nothing more than a bad dream. But it wasn’t. And I still had no idea who had put this body there. Was it this man that owns the house or was it some unknown intruder. I spend the day cleaning and repairing areas of the house. I retire around ten thirty or so. It has been a long day and I am very tired. …. I hear It again, loud banging from the kitchen. I rise once again, Making my way down the stairs I see blood near the front door, I begin to feel dizzy. Everything goes black……..

I wake up lying in bed again, fully clothed and covered n mud. I have never been more confused in y life. After a few hours of searching I only realize that the house is completely spotless. I am so close to the edge that I can feel my toes curling over the cliff of insanity.

This continues to occur over the next month, happening five or six times. At the end of the month it happens again. But this time I awaken in the living room on the couch to a much different noise. I can hear her screaming from the basement. “HELP!”….”Please someone help me!” I don’t know what to do. I panic and grab my boots, running down the stairs I expect to get dizzy but I do not pass out. I grab the phone and thrust it upon my hear, only to hear silence. Not even a dial tone to keep her screams company. I run down the stairs and I see her across the room. She is hysterical and bleeding and tied to that old rocking chair. I feel as if I should apologize for some reason, as I walk up to her she begins to yell at me. “Please, I’ll do anything you want, just stop please!”…. “Don’t hurt me anymore!” She’s begging, she can hardly breathe, her face soaked with tears and blood. She is terrified of me, I attempt to reassure her, but I begin to feel dizzy. It all fades to back.

“Oh My God! will you just shut up with all that screaming!”, “I can barely hear myself think in this echoing dungeon of a basement”. I retie her left wrist and drag the chair under the light. She continues to beg, “Please, no more, please stop!” I tell her it’s all going to be ok. I pull out my knife and kneel so that I can look her in the eyes. Laughing to myself I explain to her “Ha-ha, it’s ok, when were all finished we can take a nice trip down to the marsh, you just have to wait until I get my boots on”

The author's comments:
I know it's confusing, i just love this type of story i hope its good enough.

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