[WP] You’re a ghost who does the usual ‘haunt, someone until they flee the house. One of your victims gets the bright idea to bring a priest to exorcise the house, and the priest they bring ends up being the one who killed you all those years ago.
3 Dimmers Drive.
That was the house I inhabited for the past ten years. Ten years of haunting and scaring all inhabitants of the house; taking out my depression, anger, despair, and frustrations on them. I barely got to enjoy my life before it was snatched from me, so why would I allow some other people to find peace here?
I wasn't coldhearted enough to kill; I understood that I could do that - I certainly had the power to torment and to make my torture and tormenting of the house owners more physical, but I chose not to. The most I did was to haunt and plague them until they finally left the house.
Why? Because it was my family's house. The one in which I was killed 10 years ago, at the young age of 12. Soon after my parents walked into my pool of blood and saw the most horrible sight a parent could ever see - the corpse of their child in the living room, brutally handled with marks on my body and a crushed skull that suggested a beating and stomping - they left the house.
It was plagued with bad memories for them, and as for me, my restless soul was trapped inside the confines of the last place I wanted to be - the house in which I was murdered. For that reason, I was too bitter to allow anyone to live peacefully in this place.
Sounds, sights of blood flowing down the walls, and then the image of the living room that my parents saw: blood splattered everywhere with my body sprawled across the floor in an unnatural position - these were what I destroyed the inhabitants' psyches with. I did get some joy from doing this, my bitterness could only be assuaged by the sadistic tendencies I indulged myself in.
Ten years, fifteen inhabitants, and none staying more than 4 months. The house was building a bit of a reputation fr being haunted, but the scum of a real estate agent was always good at finding some suckers that had not heard of the place. Somehow I was thankful because he brought new people for me to play with.
Things remained like this until they came - The Smiths.
A family of five - an office worker Dad, a nurse for the Mom, and three kids aged 13, 11, and 9, the eldest being a girl, they were any ordinary textbook American family. And just like others before them, I was sure that I would send them off in less than four months, capitalizing on disturbing the kids to the point of insanity if I had to.
But unlike the other families, I had easily walked over, the Smiths were determined to stay in that house. The first thing I came to terms with was that 13-year-old Natalia was an emo-goth girl who wasn't at all scared by all she saw. Her interests were piqued in fact, and she regularly called her friends to come and witness the phenomenon.
So I focused on Max and Donny, the last two kids, feeding them with audiovisuals that kept them scared and on their toes. They began to tell their parents, and after a while, when their parents finally began to believe that this wasn't a product of childhood hysterics, I began to flash images of the bloodied living room, mess with the lights, and write "LEAVE" on the wall in bloodied letters.
But the next day, Edgar Smith, the husband, painted the walls and got a group of fake Ghostbusters. It was amusing to watch the people who had never even seen a ghost put on an act just to rip the man off, so I gave them a real fright.
They ran out of the house almost insane, forgetting to take their pay and driving off in a mad frenzy.
I smiled to myself, knowing now that Edgar would give up. But it was when the smoke of incense permeated the house that I knew that he had pulled out all the stops. The incense was of a faint, pleasant smell, but it choked me terribly.
And then when I heard the voice call out, "In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit-"
I knew they had brought a damn priest.
"I order the spirit inhabiting this place to appear!"
I felt my body being forced to apparate within a white circle, and I came face to face with the priest. And his hand began to shake, dropping the crucifix in his hand as the rest of the family members gasped. They gasped because they relaxed that their tormentor was a child, he gasped because he knew me.
Because he killed me.
10 years ago, I had cycled to the church for confession, and as soon as I entered - without knocking - my curios 12-year-old self was led to the inner room, where I was met with a sight I had only seen when Frank brought the p*rn pictures to class.
Father Francis, the priest, and Miss Maurice, the Sunday Schop; Teacher, going at it heatedly, naked. They both saw me when I came in, my mouth open as I ran out even though the Priest called me.
I reached my home and ran up to my room, exhaling loudly as I did. The magnitude of what I'd seen weighed in on me, and I wondered what to do. This secret was too big to keep in, so I wanted to chat with my friends and tell them what I'd seen when I heard the doorbell.
Assuming t was my Parents, I foolishly opened the door without asking who it was or checking;=.
Father Francis forced his way in, and then did I notice c=te crowbar in his hand.
*****
TO BE CONCLUDED.
Thanks for Reading!
