Ugliness and filth, decay and shabbiness, confinement and dankness. Everything I hated was shrinking in our rear-view mirror.
I was so excited my parents finally moved out of that dingy old mobile home and trailer-park, I couldn’t wait to get settled into our new two-story house.
When I walked into that immaculate mansion with polished hardwood floors and stark white walls, the lingering bouquet of fresh paint still in the air, I wanted to rejoice with all my might. I wanted to exclaim to the world how happy I was!
That was seven weeks ago. Before the devastation set in.
It was before the deformed faces of terror began haunting me, creatures scurrying and clawing their way across the cathedral ceilings, dripping blood on my bed each night.
It was before my days darkened to things scratching at my door and shadowy monsters floating through the chef’s kitchen and marble bathrooms.
It was before the ghosts of killers and assassins who justifiably died in this house showed me their eyeless-charred and knife-carved, blood-soaked faces. Snarled hair unravelling from their scab-infested scalps, harvesting squealing sewer-rats, their beady eyes black as death.
I think they torment me because I’m a child and the only one who can see them. My parents are content in their dream-home; clueless to my torture.
But I’ve got a plan to put an end to my own suffering. I know what I must do. The demons have tried convincing me that if I kill my parents, all poltergeists will disappear and I’ll have peace at last.
I am not a murderer. Instead, I’ve found someone who really wants to help. He’s touted as the best exorcist in the world. I feel the spectres getting nervous, fearful. It doesn’t dry my tears just yet… but it will.