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I feel kind of stupid now for pressurizing my parents to buy the house in Oakdale, Massachusetts. It seemed so perfect at the time. At first sight, it had held me in an almost trance-like state. The 111 year old Victorian mansion was the most beautiful house I'd ever seen in the area.

And it was at a steal at the price we got it for. It was appraised at $2,341,000, but the owners were selling it, as-is of course, for about $476,000. Some deep-down primal fear was set off due to that, but I just though it was my mind coming up with excuses to not leave the environment that I had grown so accustomed to.

The house was in almost perfect condition. The paint was new and only peeling in the spots that got the brunt force of the weather, and the interior had all near-brand- new appliances. Everything was up to code, and the previous owners had great taste as every appliance, from the lighting to the cabinetry to the friggin toaster, fit in with the atmosphere the house gave. The house felt very welcoming, but when we bought the house and moved in, things started getting weird. After that, things started getting sadistic.

It was autumn and, as you would expect for fall in New England, it was raining. It wasn't down-pouring like in the spring but it was more of a "light English rain" as the Rush song Camera Eye put it so well. The sky was a light grey and there was a little bit of fog to accompany the rain. Moving in I couldn't help the feeling that I was being watched. This was nothing new because most other houses I'd lived in have had a "presence" to them.

We moved the personal things out of the van first. The three of us (mother, father, and self obviously) each took our own belongings and proceeded to move up to our rooms. I could swear that I kept seeing things out of the corner of my eye but my mind quickly changed course when the electricity went out. The only thing I heard was "Shit!" That was all I needed to hear to know that my father would soon be down on his way to the basement to fix the fuses. I continued unpacking because, even with the overcast outside, there was still enough light to see what I was doing... even if it did create a disturbing, dark grey tone to the house without the warm, artificial light.

In the middle of putting my bed back together I couldn't help but get the feeling that someone was in the room with me. Not ten seconds after the thought crossed my mind I heard a loud, drawn out "swiiiiiissshhhhhhh". It was like someone was walking through my room and dragging their hand across the wallpaper. It stopped at what I would guess would be about three feet behind me. I didn't dare look up. I was in a cold sweat and terrified. I nearly shit bricks when the deep, rhythmic, Darth Vader-esque breathing began. Seconds felt like decades and I could hear the soft thumps of footsteps on the carpeted floor of my bedroom that accompanied the breaths. Just then the power came back on.

Having set strict personal priorities I finished putting together my bed, set my boxspring up, put my mattress down and got the hell out of that room. I told my parents that I would go out for a walk and check out the neighborhood first-hand. Strongly approving of the idea, they sent me off. On my walk, I tried to think of any rational explanations as to what had just happened. I finally came to the naive conclusion that it was just the fact that this was the first day of being in the new, gorgeous house.

Upon my return I could see my parents moving the rest of the stuff out of the van... of course they left my stuff in there. After about an hour and a half I had finished setting up the bare essentials for my room. Now it came down to personalization. "Hopefully my strange managerie of Spyro Gyra, Black Sabbath, Jethro Tull, Rush, Emerson, Lake, and Palmer, and Led Zeppelin posters, as well as hand-drawn portraits of Jerry Garcia, John Petrucci, Trey Anastasio, Stan Getz, and Ian Anderson would drive any tasteless demons away" I jokingly thought to myself. "Hell, if they have good taste then they're welcome in here anytime!"

Deciding to explore the house I started from the attic only to find nothing of any particular interest. The second floor held the same results. The first floor was nothing different. The basement, however, was... interesting. I was down there for a while exploring every little nook and crany. Often I would look out the corner of my eye to see something moving. I knew this definitely wasn't right. Sometimes I would instinctively jump at the slightest things and after settling down I would see the same shadow moving around. It started to get scary when I opened the closet door and found a dead cat inside with it's belly splayed open and blood covering most of the walls. Whispering started and the darkness seemed as if it was coming closer and closer to me, eventually enveloping me in a mass of darkness. The unintelligible whispering became louder and louder as a paralyzing fear swept over me. I wanted to run, oh God how I wanted to run, but I was just rooted there... unable to move. Finally, my will broke fear's grasp and I sprinted up the stairs. Promising myself I would never go down there again even though "It's just another of my wild fantasies getting the better of me."

Alone in the six thousand square foot house, I wanted so desperately to watch some good TV to calm my nerves but. alas, that was one of the things that had to be left at our former house and would be brought by tomorrow. Reading "The Amityville Horror" (a great idea right?), I was growing more and more nervous and paranoid. I'm in the middle of a paragraph when I notice the fire in the fire place is on even though there is no wood. To my horror, just like in the book, the ashes on the side of the wall make out a demonic figure as everything inside the fireplace gets enveloped in flames and, as the flames recede, I realize they make out writing. Some of it is illegible but what I could make out shook me to the core. "Your innocence dies" "Sodomize the weak" "Destroy mortality" all appear on the brick sides of the fireplace.

Suddenly, a loud THUD can be heard from above. I ran upstairs to tell my parents of my experience but at the top landing I realize... they aren't home. Just then, out of the corner of my eye, I see the door to my bedroom slam shut. In a "who the fuck would pull this kind of prank on the new guy" rage, I tear open my bedroom door and the sudden darkness overwhelms me. The power goes out again. The breathing starts again. The footsteps start again. The whispering starts again... "Your innocence dies" "Sodomize the weak" "Sodomize the innocent" "Sodomize life". My closet door slams and I can hear the covering leading to the attic slide open and shut. I didn't give anything the light of day after that. When my parents got home about two hours later they find the house burned to the ground and everything we've ever owned is in ashes. All they know is that they are happy we have homeowners insurance. And whatever the fuck was in that house isn't terrorizing any other person.