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The Silence of Death

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It's very silent. Dead silence. The silence of death. No noise whatsoever.

The moon ascends over the hundreds of houses, shaped in a huge circles with entwining roads between. I wish I had not waited so long to come. I should have just stayed in a hotel nearby. But no, I can not wait any longer for this. I must find out what happened and why I'm still alive.

My old house stood in the shadows of my neighborhood, just off the edge of the neighborhood's property. My house was broken off from the neighborhood by a long, winding road. I'm guessing that's why I was never affected like all the others were.

When I was a child, I was lonely. I hardly had any friends, and I had my own little bubble. I was my own, independent person. But when the horrors began, I couldn't help but become curious. The changes I went through during this time were enormous.

When I asked one of my neighbors, they only remained silent. As if they were keeping something from outsiders...

I, being outside the property of Farwell Woods, was considered an outsider. My parents never were social with the people living around them. They always tried to avoid being on the roads of the neighborhood itself.

When I turned twelve, the suicides began. One after the other, a person hung himself from a rope, or shot themselves with a pistol, or slit their own throats. The whole family would commit suicide together, it seemed, since they were all found dead the morning after. The suicides were going in an order, from one house on the circle to the next, almost like a clock ticking. Being the sophisticated, intelligent child I was, I came to the conclusion that something evil was at work. Something, like I stated earlier, changed within me. I wanted to know what was going on. The curiosity gnawed at me; I had never been this curious before, and whenever I felt the least bit curious, I shoved the idea away. But now, I wanted to know.

The next house, which I will never forget (address: 11994, Farwell Woods Dr., half stone, half tan sidings, very large, though filled to capacity with everything and anything, very cozy, yet lonely from what I remember of it), was the house of the next suicide (which I figured out from my clockwork theory). I hid in the bushes of the house that night after sneaking out from my own house, and watched through the kitchen window. What I saw next has never left me.

A woman was preparing a knife, sharpening it or something of that sort. She called over to someone, and a boy came over. She whispered something into his ear, and began to cry. The boy just stood there silently, his black hair falling over his eyes. He nodded. The woman stepped behind the boy, and had him tilt his head back. She quickly drew the shining blade across his neck, his head silently flopping backwards, hitting his back, while the woman held the boy in her arms, weeping. The boy's neck gushed out blood, soaking his shirt in red.

As quickly as I could, I ran back to my house, put my head under my covers, and cried. I did not sleep that night.

After six months, everyone in Farwell Woods had committed suicide. (Or in that case, a murder-suicide? I can still not decide to this very day.) We were the only ones alive at that point in time, so we decided to move as far away as we could. My parents did not realize the suicides had occurred until there was no life whatsoever except for them.

Now here I am, twenty years later, returning to Farwell Woods to figure out what had happened so many years ago.

The houses are in the exact same shape as they had been when I was younger. Even in the dark, I can still see every single detail that defines this neighborhood.

I come across 11994 Farwell Woods Dr., and see something different. There was a light on in one of the upper rooms. What the hell???

I walk up to the house, my heartbeat quickening. I'm not frightened so much as I am disturbed. Is there actually someone living in this rundown neighborhood still? Why have they not committed suicide yet? (Or did that only happen over that period of time???) The door approaches fastly-too fast-and I'm grabbing the knob of the door. Should I knock? No. Something in my gut tells me not to. Instead, my gut tells me to turn around and leave. No. I can not do that either. What I do is completely idiotic. I break open the front window and climb through, the glass now shattered all over the floor.

"WHO THE FUCK IS THERE?!?!?!" A voice booms down from above. It's very deep, very aggressive.

Dammit! What was I thinking? That this place was still haunted and that I could come in here to help me figure out what it was that had happened oh so long ago? Maybe it was all coincidence! Why hadn't I thought of that?!

But it wasn't coincidence! I know for a fact!

So walk further into the house, ignoring the man's cursing and frightened voice from upstairs. As I search the house, there are no clues as to what could've happened except for the man running downstairs with a head flexed to his back, his vocal cords still attached, and some other tissues just hardly holding his head on.

Footsteps behind me.

I hear a crack, and I fall to the ground.

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