The Presence
A Short Story
By
Blackthorn
There are things, beyond this physical world. Things that cannot be explained by science, or even logic. Beings who, without the shackles of flesh and bone, yet a consciousness greater than we can ever understand, can reach into this world, and take from it what they please. There was a time when the idea of such things would have been laughable to me. Now, however, after living in that house, I know they are real. Demons are real.
Before I continue, allow me to introduce myself. My name is James Alvon. I’d like to tell you that I have a good job, live in a nice house, and have a loving family. Unfortunately, I can’t. The truth is, I’m currently serving a life sentence, in a maximum-security psychiatric hospital, for the murder of my parents. But I didn’t do it. Their killer was not of this world. Not even from this Universe.
I remember it, like it was yesterday. The day we, me and my parents that was, arrived outside the new house. I was sixteen, at the time, and if I remember correctly, it was October of 1997. It was supposed to be a happy time, my parent’s business had taken off, and it was time to move up in the world. However, I took one look at the house, and my heart sank.
I couldn’t put my finger on it, but there was something wrong with it. In my mind’s eye, I saw a storm cloud hanging over the house, and the windows were like eyes looking down on me.
My mum asked me what I thought to the house. All I wanted to do, was tell them to get in the car and drive away. But I bit my tongue and ignored my unease. I simply told her thatI thought the house was nice.
As we made our way inside, there was a feeling of dread, in the pit of my stomach. When my dad opened the door, I felt this cold gust of air, biting the sides of my face.
The interior was surprisingly nice, with original wooden features, large spacious rooms, and French doors leading out into the lush, green garden.
However, I could not get rid of this feeling of dread. In fact, it was getting stronger. It was worse upstairs. I don’t know why, but I felt drawn to the attic. I opened the door and climbed the set of ladders which descended from within. There was a window on the far side, which provided a small amount of natural light, but it was still quite gloomy. When I turned on the light, I jumped at seeing my own reflection in a large, antique mirror, at the back of the attic. This was where this feeling of dread was coming from. Whatever was wrong with this house, that mirror was the cause.
Before I had a chance to inspect the mirror further, my mum shouted me downstairs. The removal lorry had arrived, and we had a long day of unloading and lugging heavy furniture ahead of us. We must have been at it for six hours, at least. Still, between the three of, we had got the bulk of the work finished. Exhausted, we decided to order in from the local pizza house.
It was around ten, and all of us too tired to keep our eyes open, we decided to retire to bed for the night. My parents had the room overlooking the garden, while I got the one overlooking the street. I didn’t really mind this, since the size of the room was much bigger the oneat our old house. I could walk around in here, instead of just shuffling past everything. I’d only been in bed for a about ten minutes, and I distinctly remember hearing this faint scratching sound, above me. I realised, directly above my room, was the attic. That mirror came into my head, invading my every thought, followed by that feeling of dread. However, this past after about five minutes, and I finally drifted off.
The next day, we finished arranging the rooms and putting everything in its rightful place. Now, it felt a bit more like a home. There were just three boxes left, mainly consisting of junk and things we didn’t use anymore. My dad was one of those who liked to keep things around, in case they ever came in handy, much to the dissatisfaction of my mum.
My dad asked me if I wouldn’t mind helping him to put them in the attic. I hesitantly agreed to help, as telling them I was scared to go up there because of an old mirror, would have sounded a little bit ridiculous. Speaking of that mirror, it was the first thing my dad noticed, as he entered the attic. He loved his antiques. I also noticed something, and I couldn’t help but mention it.
It had moved, from its position at the back of the attic, to the middle. Of course, my dad dismissed my claim. I pointed to where it had been stood, but he just said if it had have moved, there should have been drag marks, as it had no wheels. I suggested that it might have been lifted, at which point he just laughed and told me, I was being silly.
I wanted to tell him about the scratching I had heard, the night before. There was no point,he would have just dismissed it. You see, when it came to matters of the supernatural, my dad was very closed minded. The best course of action I could take, was to say no more about it.
That night, I was listening to music, in my room. I found the sound of my Heavy Metal interrupted by that scratching noise again, but this time it was louder. The sound of footsteps now accompanied the scratching. Loud, thudding heavily across the attic floor. I wanted to go and see what was happening, but fear prevailed, and I remained still. Listening. The footsteps stopped for a second, then continued. Except now, they were in the hallway, outside my room. They were coming towards my door. They stopped. There was silence, for what seemed like forever, then they came. KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK, on the door.
I jumped up from my chair, my heart beating a thousand miles per hour, my breathing so fast, I felt like my lungs were going to explode. I stood, trembling, for several seconds, but I knew, I couldn’t let my fear win. Slowly, with extreme caution, I made my way over to the door. As I placed my hand on the knob, it was ice cold. As I opened the door, and peeked my head around, my heart sank as I saw it standing there. The mirror. How could it have been there?
I looked at the mirror, almost certain there was something within it, staring back at me. Then, I noticed it, on my shoulder. It can’t have been, surely not. I looked away from the reflection, and down to my shoulder. To my horror, there it was. An ash black hand, with huge fingernails, resting on my shoulder. I tried to run, but I was frozen on the spot,as if some unseen force had control of my body. All I could do, was turn my head back towards the mirror. There was something new. It looked to be a face, but I could only see a mouth. It opened, letting out a spine-chilling screech. Its tongue, like a snake, came towards me, running up and down my face.
The next thing I knew, it was morning and I had jumped awake, in bed. I don’t know what happened, or how I even got there. I immediately felt a pain on my shoulder and was horrified to find finger marks on it. That’s when I saw the mirror, right next to my bed. Quickly, I jumped up, and ran downstairs.
I tried to explain to my parents what had happened, what I had seen. They wouldn’t have it, they just kept on telling me that I’d had a nightmare. Even when I showed them the finger marks, they just said I must have court myself in the night, somehow. There was only one thing for it, I took matters into my own hands. If the mirror was the problem, all I had to do was destroy it. I dragged it down the stairs, took it into the garden, and smashed it.
At least, that’s what I thought I’d done, but I can’t have done. There it was, still standing next to my bed, and here I was. Then, I noticed the room was dark. It was night, yet it had only just been morning. I couldn’t have missed an entire day.
That scratching sound, and those footsteps. I heard them, coming towards me from the darkness. Whatever this thing was, I had no intention of meeting it again. I turned towards the door, ready to fly out of the room. Only then, did Isee the horror of the situation I was in. I don’t know how I didn’t notice before. Perhaps I didn’t want to believe it, but there it was, or rather, there I was. Laid in bed, sound asleep.
Suddenly, it was standing next to me. Hissing and growling, its body moving and twisting in all kinds of unnatural positions. It didn’t have form, like a Human. It was just a black mass, with a contorted face and twig-like arms. I thought it was going to kill me or devour me in some way. But it didn’t, in fact it turned its attention away from me, and towards my body. I could only watch, hopelessly, as climbed inside my body, and took control.
Now, driving my body like a car, it walked out of the door and gestured to me to follow. It led me to me a parent’s bedroom, and forced me to watch, as it did it. As it killed them. It picked my mum up, by the throat, with one arm, and strangled her to death. It crushed her throat with such force, that her eyes were forced from her skull. My dad tried to stop it, but he was powerless. It turned to him, and with the strength no Human, much less a skinny teenager, could possibly possess, and caved his skull in with two punches.
I don’t remember what happened after that. The Police told me, when I was arrested, that I was standing in the street, gloating about how I’d killed them with my bear hands. In the years since, I have done endless amounts of research, to the point of obsession. It seemed tragedy was waiting for every family who had ever lived in that house. Suicides, murders, rapes. Its entire history was nothing but pain andsuffering. Of course, you see, that’s what Demons are. Not just spiritual entities, but beings of the abstract, who feed on negative energy to make themselves stronger.
You can choose to believe what you want; it doesn’t matter to me. I know what happened to me at that house, what had already happened to countless people before me, and what will continue to happen in the future.
The End
A Short Story
By
Blackthorn
There are things, beyond this physical world. Things that cannot be explained by science, or even logic. Beings who, without the shackles of flesh and bone, yet a consciousness greater than we can ever understand, can reach into this world, and take from it what they please. There was a time when the idea of such things would have been laughable to me. Now, however, after living in that house, I know they are real. Demons are real.
Before I continue, allow me to introduce myself. My name is James Alvon. I’d like to tell you that I have a good job, live in a nice house, and have a loving family. Unfortunately, I can’t. The truth is, I’m currently serving a life sentence, in a maximum-security psychiatric hospital, for the murder of my parents. But I didn’t do it. Their killer was not of this world. Not even from this Universe.
I remember it, like it was yesterday. The day we, me and my parents that was, arrived outside the new house. I was sixteen, at the time, and if I remember correctly, it was October of 1997. It was supposed to be a happy time, my parent’s business had taken off, and it was time to move up in the world. However, I took one look at the house, and my heart sank.
I couldn’t put my finger on it, but there was something wrong with it. In my mind’s eye, I saw a storm cloud hanging over the house, and the windows were like eyes looking down on me.
My mum asked me what I thought to the house. All I wanted to do, was tell them to get in the car and drive away. But I bit my tongue and ignored my unease. I simply told her thatI thought the house was nice.
As we made our way inside, there was a feeling of dread, in the pit of my stomach. When my dad opened the door, I felt this cold gust of air, biting the sides of my face.
The interior was surprisingly nice, with original wooden features, large spacious rooms, and French doors leading out into the lush, green garden.
However, I could not get rid of this feeling of dread. In fact, it was getting stronger. It was worse upstairs. I don’t know why, but I felt drawn to the attic. I opened the door and climbed the set of ladders which descended from within. There was a window on the far side, which provided a small amount of natural light, but it was still quite gloomy. When I turned on the light, I jumped at seeing my own reflection in a large, antique mirror, at the back of the attic. This was where this feeling of dread was coming from. Whatever was wrong with this house, that mirror was the cause.
Before I had a chance to inspect the mirror further, my mum shouted me downstairs. The removal lorry had arrived, and we had a long day of unloading and lugging heavy furniture ahead of us. We must have been at it for six hours, at least. Still, between the three of, we had got the bulk of the work finished. Exhausted, we decided to order in from the local pizza house.
It was around ten, and all of us too tired to keep our eyes open, we decided to retire to bed for the night. My parents had the room overlooking the garden, while I got the one overlooking the street. I didn’t really mind this, since the size of the room was much bigger the oneat our old house. I could walk around in here, instead of just shuffling past everything. I’d only been in bed for a about ten minutes, and I distinctly remember hearing this faint scratching sound, above me. I realised, directly above my room, was the attic. That mirror came into my head, invading my every thought, followed by that feeling of dread. However, this past after about five minutes, and I finally drifted off.
The next day, we finished arranging the rooms and putting everything in its rightful place. Now, it felt a bit more like a home. There were just three boxes left, mainly consisting of junk and things we didn’t use anymore. My dad was one of those who liked to keep things around, in case they ever came in handy, much to the dissatisfaction of my mum.
My dad asked me if I wouldn’t mind helping him to put them in the attic. I hesitantly agreed to help, as telling them I was scared to go up there because of an old mirror, would have sounded a little bit ridiculous. Speaking of that mirror, it was the first thing my dad noticed, as he entered the attic. He loved his antiques. I also noticed something, and I couldn’t help but mention it.
It had moved, from its position at the back of the attic, to the middle. Of course, my dad dismissed my claim. I pointed to where it had been stood, but he just said if it had have moved, there should have been drag marks, as it had no wheels. I suggested that it might have been lifted, at which point he just laughed and told me, I was being silly.
I wanted to tell him about the scratching I had heard, the night before. There was no point,he would have just dismissed it. You see, when it came to matters of the supernatural, my dad was very closed minded. The best course of action I could take, was to say no more about it.
That night, I was listening to music, in my room. I found the sound of my Heavy Metal interrupted by that scratching noise again, but this time it was louder. The sound of footsteps now accompanied the scratching. Loud, thudding heavily across the attic floor. I wanted to go and see what was happening, but fear prevailed, and I remained still. Listening. The footsteps stopped for a second, then continued. Except now, they were in the hallway, outside my room. They were coming towards my door. They stopped. There was silence, for what seemed like forever, then they came. KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK, on the door.
I jumped up from my chair, my heart beating a thousand miles per hour, my breathing so fast, I felt like my lungs were going to explode. I stood, trembling, for several seconds, but I knew, I couldn’t let my fear win. Slowly, with extreme caution, I made my way over to the door. As I placed my hand on the knob, it was ice cold. As I opened the door, and peeked my head around, my heart sank as I saw it standing there. The mirror. How could it have been there?
I looked at the mirror, almost certain there was something within it, staring back at me. Then, I noticed it, on my shoulder. It can’t have been, surely not. I looked away from the reflection, and down to my shoulder. To my horror, there it was. An ash black hand, with huge fingernails, resting on my shoulder. I tried to run, but I was frozen on the spot,as if some unseen force had control of my body. All I could do, was turn my head back towards the mirror. There was something new. It looked to be a face, but I could only see a mouth. It opened, letting out a spine-chilling screech. Its tongue, like a snake, came towards me, running up and down my face.
The next thing I knew, it was morning and I had jumped awake, in bed. I don’t know what happened, or how I even got there. I immediately felt a pain on my shoulder and was horrified to find finger marks on it. That’s when I saw the mirror, right next to my bed. Quickly, I jumped up, and ran downstairs.
I tried to explain to my parents what had happened, what I had seen. They wouldn’t have it, they just kept on telling me that I’d had a nightmare. Even when I showed them the finger marks, they just said I must have court myself in the night, somehow. There was only one thing for it, I took matters into my own hands. If the mirror was the problem, all I had to do was destroy it. I dragged it down the stairs, took it into the garden, and smashed it.
At least, that’s what I thought I’d done, but I can’t have done. There it was, still standing next to my bed, and here I was. Then, I noticed the room was dark. It was night, yet it had only just been morning. I couldn’t have missed an entire day.
That scratching sound, and those footsteps. I heard them, coming towards me from the darkness. Whatever this thing was, I had no intention of meeting it again. I turned towards the door, ready to fly out of the room. Only then, did Isee the horror of the situation I was in. I don’t know how I didn’t notice before. Perhaps I didn’t want to believe it, but there it was, or rather, there I was. Laid in bed, sound asleep.
Suddenly, it was standing next to me. Hissing and growling, its body moving and twisting in all kinds of unnatural positions. It didn’t have form, like a Human. It was just a black mass, with a contorted face and twig-like arms. I thought it was going to kill me or devour me in some way. But it didn’t, in fact it turned its attention away from me, and towards my body. I could only watch, hopelessly, as climbed inside my body, and took control.
Now, driving my body like a car, it walked out of the door and gestured to me to follow. It led me to me a parent’s bedroom, and forced me to watch, as it did it. As it killed them. It picked my mum up, by the throat, with one arm, and strangled her to death. It crushed her throat with such force, that her eyes were forced from her skull. My dad tried to stop it, but he was powerless. It turned to him, and with the strength no Human, much less a skinny teenager, could possibly possess, and caved his skull in with two punches.
I don’t remember what happened after that. The Police told me, when I was arrested, that I was standing in the street, gloating about how I’d killed them with my bear hands. In the years since, I have done endless amounts of research, to the point of obsession. It seemed tragedy was waiting for every family who had ever lived in that house. Suicides, murders, rapes. Its entire history was nothing but pain andsuffering. Of course, you see, that’s what Demons are. Not just spiritual entities, but beings of the abstract, who feed on negative energy to make themselves stronger.
You can choose to believe what you want; it doesn’t matter to me. I know what happened to me at that house, what had already happened to countless people before me, and what will continue to happen in the future.
The End
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