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The Odd House on the Edge of Town

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Skeleton burning

Man in the Window?

There was a house on the edge of town, but this was an odd house.

I remember it clearly, every single day of walking home from school. I was eight at the time, and walking to school alone was something that made me feel like a big boy.

That house was something I'll never forget.

Whenever I walked by, to or from school, I always saw that strange man in the window. He'd just stand there and stare at me, but with a smile that you'd normally consider friendly. Yet there was something unsettling about it.

There was an old house on the edge of town, but this was an odd house.

As days passed, I became more and more uncomfortable walking down that road, yet it was the only road I knew, and the one road I was told to follow by my mother, every single day. Not a single exception.

I tried waking up early, and setting off late, yet nothing stopped the man from standing there, with his creepy, ominous smile, the darkness behind him cloaking his body, making his head seem like a floating apparition.

As days and days went on by, something seemed stranger and stranger, creepier and creepier. The most eerie part was that I couldn't even tell what kept changing.

There was an old, run-down house on the edge of town, but this was an odd house.

Day by day, tormented by the overshadowing presence of his face in that window, I saw the most horrifying sight, that one night. You see, it was winter, so it tended to get darker very early.

His face... its face... The first thing I noticed was the smile. The smile had stretched so far it literally went from one ear, stretching all the way to the other, showing a wide, horrifying and creepy smile that I will never forget.

Then I noticed the skin of its face had become grey, the skin almost looked like cloth from down where I was, it looked as if it would be very easy to rip off...

I wonder what it would feel like to just... rip someone's skin off like that. I rushed home crying to my mother, begging her to never make me go again.

There was an old, run-down house, barely standing on the edge of town, but this was the Devil's house.

When I begged my mother to come with me to school, so she could see this horror and put a stop to it, but it wasn't there.

Day by day, we walked the same path, and no matter what, the creature I saw in the window wouldn't be there. As days passed I began to see the horrific creature everywhere, no matter where I went, its presence chilling me to the very core, filling me with terror. I saw it in the mirrors, in the doors, through the windows, on the dark, switched off computer screen.

I was tormented. Constantly tormented and I cried, cried to my parents yet they put it up as nothing but children's wild imagination.

Sometimes, I awoke crying, sobbing to myself quietly in the night, covering my ears and my eyes closed. I don't know why I was like this, what happened but I just felt pure fear within me and I was petrified, unable to move. My mind was poisoned by the creature I saw that day, and these occurrences happened more and more often until it was every night.

There was a house in the town, I lived in this house.

I lock the door, move my bed, my bookshelf, everything in front of it, to stop them from coming in. My parents... They help that thing, they make me walk to school because they wish that thing, that demon to take me.

I see it everywhere, but within these pages, these pages I write this story over and over.

I feel weak, I haven't had food or water in a long time. Longer than I can remember. My room is filled with dried vomit and urine, as I sit here, writing this story over and over. My hands are brittle and frail, with nothing but skin and bones. My hand shakes, barely having the strength to hold the pen.

I'm safe here, in my room, writing this story over and over,

I'm safe here, with my paper, writing this story over and over,

I'm safe here, as I await my end, writing this story over and over,

There was a house on the edge of town, but this was an odd house.

I remember it clearly, every single day of walking from school. I was eight at the time, and walking to school alone was something I felt like a big boy for.

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