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Facing It

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Hi, my name is Richard Belric and what I’m about to tell you is my traumatic experience which awarded me with a life-time stay at the loony bin.

The story starts on the cold, chilling night of August the 23rd, 2004, in which on the way to meet some friends at the pub I got lost, and as cliché as it is, my car broke down right in the middle of the woods. After walking around aimlessly I found an old mossy house. As it was cold and I was lost, this creepy house straight from a horror movie would have to do for shelter.

I got in the house and as I suspected it was abandoned. It was a big house and right in front of the entrance was a huge painting of a woman holding a tiny baby, and suddenly… footsteps, I heard footsteps coming from the second floor, my heart skipped a beat but curiosity took over and I followed the footsteps. They led me to a door, I slowly turned the knob, pushed the door and in the room… was a cat. I sighed in relief, but it was brief because moments later I noticed the cat had no face. I screamed, and the cat fled… At that moment I knew something wicked had happened there a long time ago.

The room had a king-size bed, and on top of it was a diary. It read: “22nd January 1866. Today is the day I finally get the baby I so long awaited from Kate, a baby who otherwise would have no home. I’m so excited!”

I kept reading until I stumbled upon the following: “18th February 1879. I knew something was off with little Andy since I told him he was adopted. I thought it was a normal reaction but it’s been 5 years and he still has the same look in his eyes. He has become quite violent at school always getting into trouble but today I walked into his room and little Andy was scratching his face with a pair of scissors. I burst into tears and slapped him out of shock and confusion. But he just stared at me with that wicked look, not saying a word.”

“31st August 1880. It’s been ten days since our cat Fluffy went missing and I know he did it. Oh God, I know he did it. So I searched through his desk and on the top right shelf there it was: Fluffy’s face just lying there like some sort of sick trophy.”

“12th January 1982. I can’t take it anymore. That… that thing has been getting worse every day. I know what I am going to do is selfish but…”

And that was the last entry. After reading it I felt dizzy and surreal. Was this really happening? I sprinted out of the room wanting to get out of that hell house but then I heard a woman crying. It came from the basement. I know I should have gone away but I had to see if someone was hurt or in trouble, so I went down the stairs and there, in a dark room, was the woman from the painting hanging from a rope. Her hand was pulled back. And in the pitch black corner of the room was a mangled decaying corpse with a cat’s bloody face for a mask, holding her hand dearly. It was the boy… staring straight into my eyes.

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