When mother and I moved, it was not a nice new home.
I was born November 10th, 1997, and given the name Mathew **** Lester. Due to the fact I hate my name, i would much prefer if you called me Matt. I have never believed in any religion, supernatural event, or extra-terrestrial story. I pride myself in being incredibly skeptic and looking at things with a scientific mind. My entire life, I have lived to know the truth and nothing but the whole truth, so it is hard to tell you that I have no explanation for the events in that house.
It was small, beat up, and most importantly...cheap. The house was painted a dull gray with a light blue trimming and had about half of the shingles on its roof that it should. All in all, when we pulled up to this broken piece of shit house, It wasn't appealing to the eye. Luckily, it came with all the works. Two bedroom, one bathroom (one bathtub, no shower) and located in the dead center of the shadiest part of town.
Honestly, considering our financial situation, i didn't know why I was expecting better.
Mom's master bedroom was great. It was large, fit a queen size bed, and had two windows to let in a lot of sunlight. All of the room's walls were painted a dark brownish color that was partially faded, and had more than a couple of scratches and chips. Seeing as how the entire house had hardwood floors, the floor squeaked occasionally, but that was the only real complaint. Compared to the rest of the house, that room was paradise. That master bedroom really got my hopes up for my bedroom.
Getting let down would be an understatement. Possibly one of the worst choices for colors in a small, cramped , rectangular room is navy blue. No bed spreads we owned could match the walls in there, and the only decent spot for my bed was near the single, tiny, prison-cell like window in the corner. The whole room was confined and tight, I hated it from the first moment I was there.
I managed to live with it though, and surprisingly all my possessions fit inside. Mom and I had a gourmet dinner (top ramen with melted butter inside, because health is our number 3 concern) and watched Scrubs through our DVD player and 90's tube screen TV. At about 11 o'clock, I decided I wanted to go to bed. After brushing my teeth and putting on my pajamas, I turned the lights out in my room and slowly climbed into bed. Navy blue walls are surprisingly calming at night, I realized, then thought this new house wouldn't be too bad after all.
The third night, the nightmares began.
I would awake, slowly opening my eyes to a thick, gray, misty fog. There was no sky, no stars, no sun nor moon, just a void above me. Slowly, I would realize I was on my back and stand up. As I stood, I came face to face with a hooded man, arms in the air. Light came from my feet, and as I saw, I was in the center of a pentagram made out of burning red candles. One hooded man stood at each point of the star, arms almost stereo-typically raised in air, chanting the same phrase over and over.
I couldn't step over the candles. I would try and try, but fail every time. Accepting the situation, I would stay in the same spot for a while. Standing around, staring at the hooded men, trying to get their attention, However none of them were ever distracted. They kept chanting and chanting and chanting away, until I heard a beastly roar behind me. Every time I had that dream, I would whip around in surprise only to meet two great, glowing, red, horrifying eyes.
And then I was awake.
This dream kept recurring for about 3 months, around then is when I discovered the attic.
Home alone, I was very bored one Saturday afternoon. TV bored me, I had no friends to hang out with, and I wasn't aloud to leave the house. While nosing around, I discovered an attic hatch in the top of my closet. Immediately, I thought it a strange spot for a hatch to be, but I entered regardless.
Instantly, I was struck with the attic's immense size. It had no walls or barriers, so it was essentially the size of entire house in one room. However, the entire attic had only 3 things in it. Three rolled up carpets with in the corner at the opposite end of the hatch. I walked over to them and dragged the first one out, unrolling it. The dirty, gray, shag carpet unrolled and spewed dust everywhere in the attic. It appeared to be the same shape as the living room, and realized the carpet must have been torn out.
I rolled up the first carpet patch and put it back just as I had found it. Then, I grabbed the next one in the row. This time, it was a green shag carpet that unrolled. It had a few purple stains in it from what looked like grape juice. The whole thing was barely less dusty than the living room carpet, and had the same shape as my mom's bedroom. I rolled that carpet up and put it back.
The last carpet was tied together with a thick rope. It took me many minutes to get the several knots out of it, and threw the old rope aside. Looking at the rope, it seemed oddly stretched and strained. I grabbed the rolled up carpet and unrolled it on the attic floor. Briefly after, I vomited onto my shoes.
The carpet was white, and stained red with blood in many spots. Little hunks of rotten, pinkish-brown meat were stuck in the old torn carpet. Directly in the center were burns, circular burns, in the shape of a pentagram. It looked as if hot...candles...burned them into it. Blood stains were drawn into odds symbols and shapes and drawings. Worst of all, it was shaped rectangular, just like my room.
I saw a little piece of metal glint in the center of the pentagram. After regaining my composure, I slowly walked over to inspect it. Directly in the center of the star, a little metallic cross was nailed down. My hand reached for it, and with much effort, pried it from its spot. Moments after, I heard a loud crash come from my bedroom.
I froze, cross in hand, and sat down. I sat, silently, and cried. For nearly half an hour I stayed in the same place and cried. Once I believed it was safe, I crawled over to the hatch opening into my closet. As silently as possible, I crawled through into my room. Five hooded men stood in a line in the center of the room, blocking the door way. Each one of them was staring at me. At that moment, I surely believed I was going to die.
Surprisingly, they all said "Thank you" in unison, and slightly bowed their heads. I stood up, confused. However, before I could ask a single question, a deafening roar came from behind me. It was the loudest, most blood-curdling sound I had ever heard shortly before I blacked out.
Once I came to again, the hooded men were gone. Stumbling to my feet, I walked through out my bedroom door and down the hallway. The front door was standing wide open, letting in a cool spring draft. Orange light came into the house from the setting sun, and it glinted magnificently off the shards of doorknob scattered across the floor. My eyes examined the pieces of brass covering the living room, and my eyes returned to the door. The wooden paint on the door was covered in gigantic, horrendous claw marks. On the front side, a large pentagram was drawn.
Slowly, it dawned on me. That mark was to tell whatever I freed not to kill me....that I was safe-guarded....
I fell to my knees and cried.
