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The Only One

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Never Call Upon Him For Any Reason

A Year After

The streets were ridden with bloodstains and almost-rotten bodies. All the animals were laying dead in the streets, or what little was left of them; maybe a beak there, a toe here. I don't think anything in this world was the same. At least after "He" came for us. A mystery to all of the people in the street.

But to me it was perfectly clear... he was hungry. He wanted it all. At some point so did I. And that's why I lost everything. Why I walk alone now on the old, cracked streets. Past the dead bodies and animal parts. But... I guess I had it all. Food. Electricity. Internet. They make sure to keep that running for me. Because I was their little mouse. Their experiment. I was surprised that they hadn't killed me yet. I guess they need their entertainment too. Right?

A Year Before

I tapped my foot, getting severely pissed off. Marcie was supposed to be here an hour ago and I was wondering where she was. I scratched my head. I adjusted my belt. I kept an eye on my little wristwatch. I guess she got scared and decided not to come. I guess she was nervous to be alone with a boy for the first time. I shrugged and looked around, trying to find something to occupy myself now that I knew she wasn't going to come. I mean, what was there to do in an abandoned house? There had to be something. It was an old house from the nineteenth century. There had to be some secrets hidden in this house. Something that wasn't right. I moved from the doorstep and opened the door.

I'm trying not to open it too slow, because I was sure it would creak and bring attention to me. I was actually surprised that no one had caught me yet and sent me to the police. I walked in and an instant whoosh of cold air hit me in the face. The door started to creak and as I turned around it stopped. Something dashed away from the door.

It was like a blur. I pinched myself saying, "Scott, get yourself together. You've been drinking too much. Calm down." I took a deep breath and examined the interior of the house. It was really old, the wall paper peeling from the wall and in some spots it wasn't even there. I cringed. These places had always scared me. Even when I was twelve. I felt like I had been here before.

But I pushed the thought out of my head. There was no way. I looked at the sofa, it was torn on one of the cushions and clawed on the left arm of it. The windows were boarded, which made the place extremely un pleasent. There was a box in the corner, under a petite table at the end of the couch. I knelt down and lifted the lid of the box. It was filled with old pictures. Of people sitting in this room. A lot of the families not the same but some of them were the same. The first picture I picked up was of the family that had seven children. It had a document scrolled on the back that said "Six dead. One missing." I gulped and looked at the picture and then the five attached to it.

The first photo showing the children as toddlers, the parents being a little young. The next one of the children as preteens, the parents not looking aged at all... which was creepy. The third picture of the children being teenagers and the parents... still not aged. I was starting to cringe. The fourth picture of the children being adults... the parents the same age. The fifth picture... by far the most awful was of the parents eating their children. I looked on the back of the picture. It said, "He told us too." I ran to the door and tried to open it but couldn't. I shook the door and tried to break it down. But I got slammed against the wall behind me. My eyes widened in surprise. I whispered to myself " I don't... understand." I got up and walked into the kitchen and for some strange reason went straight to the sink which had a locket sitting on the faucet.

I grabbed the locket and looked inside. It was the couple from the pictures. The ones that killed their children. I was wondering more and more who "He" was. Was he the one who pushed me from the door? What did he want me to find? I looked in the fridge and there was a knife with blood on it in a jar. A noose in a jar next to it. And in the next jar a revolver. It looked pretty new. Like one from 100 years ago. They were labeled with names. The eight names on the knife jar were John, Mary, Marabelle, Lucy, Freddrick, Derek, and Cecelia. Those were the names of the six out of seven children and their two parents. I looked at names on the revolver jar. Mark, Lacy. My... grandparents. I looked over a little and saw the blur again, accompanied by 2 more blurs. I ran out of the room, tripping on thin air and falling on my knee.

I ran up the stairs, falling on every few stairs until I got to the hallway. I ran into the first room and I sank to my knees when I saw what was there. It was me as a little boy, splashing around in the bathtub, looking up at my mother. I grabbed the picture in the tub when the vision went away. It was of my grandparents. Dead and hanging by the attic rafters. I threw the picture down as a blurry object hit me in the back. I turned around and screamed at it "YOU CANNOT HAVE ME," I cried out. I ran to the attic and there was a picture of my father and mother hanging from the same rafters. Twelve blurs surrounded me. And then I blacked out. I woke up a few minutes or a few hours later and a book was in front of me.

I opened the book and read the first chapter. It was about a demonic entity, often called "Him, or He." I read that anytime that a person found out about him that he would do something horrible. I slammed the book down and ran downstairs and he let me out the door. I had been in that house... more time than I thought. I looked at the streets. Everyone was... dead. And there were bloodstains on the concrete. Animal parts everywhere. I had caused this. I had went into that house. I was the grandchild of the missing child. I was the one who had done all this to everyone... everything. I was not going to live this down. A tear rolled down my cheek. It was over.

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