1 The Beginning Of The Happenings

*The last time I inhaled the odour was 10 seconds before I saw the dark. For the last*

I barely recollect how I stood before that house. Perhaps I was five or a little less than that, but the feeling in me, it got me to no good end. I spent my whole life in that house and each day there was a new dead found, a new dead and always in the same place. It was as if we're obliged to die there; it was as if that's the place where we taste death. Of course, I never knew what was death and never took it too solemnly. I was so foolish enough to believe that it was a pleasure to taste until I was the next victim. I hardly believed it to be true to occur, but gradually things seem to run right at me. The cases only kept on increasing and whenever there was a halt in the deaths, at least 5 kids were traumatized with their own thoughts, or shall I say, what they say to be true, but hardly it was true to be true to believe.

I was six before they shifted me to the secondary section of the house. It was where most of the cases occurred. I was quite normal to be called abnormal, but it all changed in one night before my sixth birthday. I was running through the hallway with my new toy that some random people who happened to pass by the house handed me out of piety. It was sharp 9 pm and scarcely a rice size of pupils was awake, including the attendants.

I was just five and honestly pretty much courageous that I didn't pay much attention to what the other kids said; I felt like I should witness it myself and not let their cries and screams accumulate in me but little did I know that this night only turned out to be my worst nightmare and embraced me like a shadow, following the depth of my veins and arteries.

She stood there with arms wide open, a huge smile and her teeth were hardly visible, her eyes a perfect red shot of sharp and intensely heating gaze with the burnt skin. She had those two hands sticking out from her back, longer than the ones on her side, and her legs were too long than what an average should be. I must say that aside from her general appearance, she had pretty hair, though I did not comb them for ages and I knew it quite well, especially after seeing her dishevelled state. Her hair seemingly was perfect. She was almost near to what we call something as dilapidated.

I had a 10 ft. Distance from her and we shared a long eye contact that didn't last for quite the expected long as I was interrupted by one of the attendants. I turned back to find her nowhere anymore but after that day, the death cases increased and abruptly stopped, increased and abruptly stopped and on and on, the resonance of the screams was intensified and now even in the junior section but less attention was paid to it.

Many of the kids there entirely blamed me for the abrupt happenings and indeed I felt it, to entirely blame myself because right after I was shifted, the page too took a new turn, but what if it was a destined obligation, we were all compelled to witness and it had nothing to do with me? After 18 years of leaving that house, I still doubt it. I was sent for therapy sessions every Sunday and every day they always asked me the same question and to every same question I always answered the same but in a different way which they found to be a change, not in the phrase used but the answer itself, they were so stupid to be considering it that way though. They then shifted me to the third floor, and my room was beside the attendants' room. They believed that I was quite abnormal to be normal, and that I was not a good fit for the others, so they isolated me.

This isolation made me feel like I'm better off being alone. I got much time to focus on what I wanted to do and never had to encounter those meddlesome kids; it was a peace which was a sense of peace to a child but a horrific twist to a teen and I soon felt it when I turned 13.

It was this strange dream that took the second start of my haunts. Every night I would dream of a woman in all white approaching me. She looked exactly like what I saw in the hallway, but her skin wasn't burnt, her dress was clean and her hair was presentably done. She would always lift me, sing me a lullaby and at sharp 9 am she would hammer at me and throw me down, and at the exact time I would get up, all sweating. I was 13 back then.