When I was just 9, my parents took me and my sister to Ireland. The little town we went to that summer, was truly beautiful. My father said it was "Just what we needed!" after such a long year.
I suppose it was a long year for all of us. My father worked in a factory, that made him work too hard, and he would often take out his stress on me and my sister. He was abusive, yes, and so was my mother.
She would especially like to torture my little sister, with whatever she could find. My sister would end up in the hospital, where my mother pretended to feel bad for her, and the doctors often said they had never seen such a caring mother.
Even if he was abusive, I liked my father more. He could be a very nice person, but he had faced so much stress and trauma in his life. My mother seemed to just enjoy watch her children suffer.
I think, when my father planned this vacation, he just wanted to get away from it all. He wanted to get away from his terrible job, and he hoped to let his wife see some peace, and make her return to the woman he married.
So I guess, that when we arrived in the village, and saw how silent, honest, and peaceful it was, we were all hoping for a better future. We took a videocamera with us (back then the quality was of course very bad, especially the only camera we could afford, with the little money we hadn't spent on the holiday).
I thought everything was going great. My dad promised he would change his ways, and stop hurting us when he was drunk. We videotaped the beautiful landscape, and went fishing, swimming, and biking. For the first time in years I felt great.
At least, until one night. I was fast asleep, but when I woke up, I was not in the little cottage we rented. I was lying on the beach, on a few old sheets. I looked around, confused. It was very dark. How did I get here? What happened? I found my sister laying next to me, awake.
She looked at me with wide eyes, like she was silently asking me where we were.
"Where are we?" I said. "Let's get back to the cottage and ask mom and dad." My sister put something in her bag, took the sheets, and stood up. She looked around, still with large eyes.
We walked silently to the village, where our cottage stood upon a hill covered in green grass. It was probably past midnight, and the stars shone bright, through the dark sky of Ireland.
The moment I entered the cottage, I knew something was wrong. Something smelled strange, and when I called for mom and dad, no one answered.
"Shhh," I said to my little sister, and signing her to stay downstairs, I went creeping up the stairs to my parents bedroom.
What I saw when I opened the old wooden door to the bedroom, was pure terror. Blood was splattered all over the room. My mother lay spread over the bead, literally, with pieces of her body spread across the sheet. My dad lay on the floor, turned upside down, the words "I'm sorry" written on his back. Blood everywhere. The smell of death. Intestines dripping down the bed.
I ran down the stairs, took my sister with me, and I kept running away, my whole life. I have tried to suppress this terrible memory. And I almost succeeded, now, so many year later, I almost got past this traumatizing experience.
I had lived alone, and scared, ever since I got out of the foster homes. My sister killed herself a few years after our parents got killed, by jumping of a cliff near her foster parent's home. The doctors said the mental trauma was just too much for her, which I agreed with, since she hadn't spoken a word, since the night it happened.
But a few days ago, I found something. I decided to go back to my old house, to finally let the past behind me, say goodbye to those terrible memories of abuse.
The house had been abandoned by the previous owners, for unknown reasons, and was now for sale again. I went to the attic, where I slept when I was a kid. I found a bunch of boxes I could not remember. Probably belonged to the previous owners, right?
I opened the box, and found... tapes? It were the tapes from that holiday. I remember they were lost, and I never tried hard to find them. Now that I had them, I might as well play them.
I took the tapes home, and after some technical difficulties, had them running on my screen.
I felt somewhat nostalgic, seeing the only moment of my life where I got along with my family. I saw the images of the landscape, me and my dad fishing. The beautiful green hills, the cliffs, the ocean, the setting sun...
Suddenly, the images changed drastically. I saw our cottage, in the dark. I heard a fast breath, probably coming from the person filming. I had no memory of filming this... The image went static, and then it showed a new video.
I saw my parents bedroom, they were sleeping. The camera holder walked towards them, and filmed them sleeping, for a couple of minutes. Then the camera holder walked towards my bedroom... I saw myself sleeping, and whoever was filming turned off the camera. Some static, and the images went back to happy holiday footage.
Me and dad riding bike, me and dad hiking... Our cottage, the people of the village. No footage at all of my little sister and my mother. Mainly because my sister was usually the one filming, and my mother stayed inside all day.
After going through a few minutes of happiness, the video went static again and showed more footage, that was shot in the night.
This time, it showed the cameraholder holding a knife... They were walking to my room... Filming me, as they got closer and closer to me.
For a second, watching the video, I feared for myself, but then I realized I was not the one in danger. Now very fearful, I continued watching...
The cameraholder put down the knife, and picked up a heavy baseball bat, which hang on the wall. They hit me on the head with it, once. I saw myself pass out. Static. Now, footage of me being dragged (with my bedsheets still on me), from the cottage to the beach. Whoever was dragging me, had trouble with it. The camera was not helt still, but moved around with the movements.
By now I was fearing the worst, and after some static, I saw the cameraholder creeping into my parent's bedroom, now holding the knife again. The camera was put down. I couldn't see much because it all went so quickly, and it was so dark, but I saw a rather small person stabbing my parents multiple times. Blood flew across the room, and intestines fell of the bed. I heard someone crying. A hysterical, high pitched crying.
The image went static. I saw myself lying on the beach. My sister was not next to me. My sister turned around the camera, filming herself. "I'm sorry, brother."