A Story Hard to Follow

I cannot explain the following events in any other way but exactly how they happened, as difficult as they are to fully grasp. These events occurred in a relatively short period of time, starting July 14 and ending July 18 of the year 1998. What you are about to hear can be viewed as disturbing, but I can assure you that they are true.

July 14th, 1998
My job as a renovator brought me to 121 Preacher Avenue, a house in complete disarray that had been abandoned for upwards of ten years, only to be purchased by me from the second owner about a week proceeding this actual account. I had decided that I, accompanied by my partner, Jason Kritz, and my two usual subcontractors, Frank Del Castanna and Peter Farr, would begin renovating the home in our usual fashion, starting with this date. Unfortunately, with this house being in such a disheveled state, Jason and I were forced to hire a third contractor, one whom we had no prior acquaintance, to work on the pipes in the basement of the building.

I will now describe the floorplan of the home in great detail, the reason I am doing this is important, so please bear with me. The home was two stories, plus both an attic and basement. The floorplan was the normal for most houses in this area, the front door leading into a living room, with a dining room through French doors on the left and a stairway to the right. The dining room had a door leading into the kitchen, including a pantry on the right side and a small bedroom off the kitchen, which was connected to the laundry room that had a half-bath through a door on the far side. A closet was placed by the side door and the back door led into a sun room, which would then lead into the dining room via a second set of French doors.

Another staircase was located in the kitchen. The second story contained a long hallway with both sets of stairs leading up to it on either side. There were three bedrooms upstairs, two of them on either side of the living room stairway and one of the to the left of the kitchen's set. separating the bedrooms were two other rooms, coming from the living room stairway a bathroom on the right and a study on the left. Across the single bedroom sat a sewing room.

The attic was one room together, the ladder being located between the bathroom and study. The basement was two rooms with a stairway in the laundry room leading down to it. The first room, a rec room, was much larger than the second, the stairway leading directly into it. A door sat on the opposite side of the room leading to the furnace and water heater. I had the floorplan memorized, I know I did.

We walked inside the living room and looked around. As I said before, it was in a decaying state, littered with furniture of whatever family lived here before, this including mannequins and the sort in the sewing room and dishes in the kitchen, even coats and clothes in the closets and a few dressers. I decided to send Frank and Peter to look through the first floor and the third contractor, his name being Greg Jamison, into the basement to begin his work as Jason and I decided to look at the second floor. We all set our tools down on the rotting table in the living room and parted ways. While Jason decided to look in the attic, I turned and walked into the bedroom to the left of the living room stairway, this is where it started.

I woke up in a daze, now laying on the bed. What happened? Why was I laying down? When did I pass out? I stumbled out of bed and walked into the upstairs hallway. How long was I asleep? I called out to Jason up in the attic but got no response. I looked behind me, out the bedroom window, and saw it was now dark out, I must have been out for hours, seeing as we arrived mid-day. Why did no one come check on me? I opted not to go into the attic, feeling a slight sting of fear as I stared up into the dark. I, instead, trudged downstairs and into the living room. I called out again for Peter and Frank but still, no response. Opening the French doors I walked into the dining room and then the kitchen, but I couldn't find them. Perhaps they were in the sun room? Suddenly, I heard the distinct sound of metal clanging against cement coming from the basement. I shot around and approached the door. I called down the stairs, but again no response. For some odd reason, I decided to go investigate and descended into darkness.

I don't know how it happened, but I found myself climbing down the ladder of the attic the next second. What the fuck just happened? How the hell did I end up here? I slapped myself to see if I was, in fact, dreaming, but, seeing as my cheek stung like hell after I connected, I came to the conclusion I was not. I jumped off the ladder and looked around, everything seemed normal at first, but then I found something that again shocked me. The door to my right, the one that should have led into the bathroom, was not there. I walked over to the wall and gave it a closer look, nothing. There was no seem, no crack, just decaying wallpaper, no sign a door had ever been there. What the fuck was going on? Suddenly, I heard a call come from upstairs in the attic, it was Jason. I looked up, and was filled with terror.

There was no darkness in the attic, on the contrary, it was well-lit. But there also was no attic. I looked up through the trapdoor to see the dining room. I fell back, but saw Jason walking through the room. I tried calling out to him, but it seemed he couldn't hear me. Then I heard the sound of a door opening to my right, my glance shot over, but there was no door.

What the fuck was going on? My view snapped up into the attic again, but this time I saw nothing but darkness. I needed to get out, I sprinted down the hall and down the living room stairway, running smack-dab into a door. What the fuck? I spun around and found I was inside the study. At this point I was overwhelmed by fear. I tore open the study door to find myself standing at the entrance of the sun room with Frank standing at its center.

He was scared, I was too. We attempted to figure out what the hell happened, but it was to no avail. He told me he awoke laying on the bed in the bedroom connected to the kitchen with no one in sight, walking out into the upstairs bedroom and transporting room to room as I had. We decided it would be better to stick together at this point. I saw he still had his watch and I asked him to check it, it read ten-thirty pm. We turned and walked out of the sunroom together. What we saw next neither of us were prepared for.

July 15th, 1998
We walked in to find Greg.... but he was not alive, he was not alive at all. Greg was pinned to the wall of the rec room, various items stabbed inside of him. Knives, shards of glass, wooden stakes. His entrails fell to the floor, hanging from the pool cue that held him to the wall. Frank turned and puked, I was about to. What killed him? Why the brutality? I started to cry, it wasn't long before Frank cried as well. We agreed we had to leave the rec room, and decided to turn around and walk into the furnace room, or wherever it would lead.

I stood alone in the upstairs bedroom, the one across from the same I awoke in. Frank was nowhere to be found, but I apparently held his watch. It read three-fifty a.m. I time-jumped, I know I did, but I wasn't even surprised by this. It barely registered. Then came the low grumble from behind me.

I spun around to see a shadowy figure, almost cloud-like in nature, though in a human-like shape. I fell back, screaming at the creature to go away, but was answered by the laughter of what sounded like a small child being emanated from the creature. I quickly tore open the door and fell out into the kitchen.

I saw Greg again, only this time he was pinned to the kitchen wall. I began to cry again, squeezing my eyes shut, and when I opened them I found myself lying at the feet of Peter in the attic. Peter said not a word, he wouldn't speak, he wouldn't turn and look at me. I grabbed him and spun him around, then gasped in horror and fell back through the trapdoor. His face was replaced by a mannequins head from the sewing room. When my head hit the ground I was knocked unconscious.

July 16th, 1998
I awoke to find myself in the rec room. I fumbled and grabbed for Frank's watch, it read three-twenty-eight p.m. July, 16th. I was groggy and it took me some time to stand. I needed to get out of this house, there was something inside with us, something menacing. I didn't know who was alive anymore, I didn't know anything anymore. I decided to try my luck and walk up the stairs to the laundry room.

To my surprise I found myself standing in the correct room, was it over? But, just as soon as a wave of relief hit me, a wave of terror overcame me. Peter stood in front of me, or what resembled Peter. His mannequin head sat atop his body, his left arm still being human while his right being a mannequin's, his legs were the same way, just reversed. Unfortunately, this time he wasn't static. He lept towards me, landing on top of me. I screamed and attempted to fight him off, but he subdued me, wrapping his hands around my throat. This was it, or so I thought. As my vision became blurry and I slipped out of consciousness, I saw Greg, now laying pinned to the floor behind me. I let out a deep breath, and heard a scream.

July 17th, 1998
I awoke in a bathtub, meaning I was in the upstairs bathroom. I shot up, ready to fight whatever Peter had become again, but instead saw Jason, now covered in blood, washing himself at the sink. We exchanged words, he explained how he had stabbed Peter repeatedly, then grabbed me and carried me in transporting room to transporting room until we reached the bathroom. I looked for Frank's watch but couldn't find it, luckily Jason had one as well. It read four-eighteen July 17. I looked around the room, looking for a way out. The window! I instantly brought my suggestion to Jason's attention, but he shot it down. Jason explained that's exactly how Greg died, he was with him at the time. Greg tried smashing out the sun room's window and suddenly the cracked glass flew into him, sending him flying to the wall and disappearing. When Jason looked back the window remained unshattered. So with that out of the question we thought up a game plan.

We knew Peter and Greg were dead, Frank was missing. We couldn't do anything about those three, but we decided we would try to escape together. We made a rope out of the shower curtain, tying it tightly to our wrists, praying this would work and not serve to de-limb us. We pulled open the bathroom door and walked out.

Luckily, we found ourselves still together, though our wrists hurt like hell. We were in the sewing room, and barely reacted when we saw Peter's head sat on top a mannequin inside. We were becoming hardened. We searched the room and I managed to find a pair of scissors, which I would don as my new weapon. Suddenly we heard the distinct sounds of fists smashing against the sewing room door.

We spun around to face it, the force of each strike making the door shake, objects fall behind us. The door itself began to splinter, then everything stopped. Jason and I prepared our weapons, ready to assault whatever monster would enter. Then, the door swung open, and we lept into action.

It was Frank. We killed Frank. The house, or whatever was controlling us, tricked us. It made us kill Frank. We sat in horror at what we had done, and then turned to see Greg's body pinned to a mannequin. That's when I realized it, there were five mannequins. When Jason and I purchased the house and looked around, there were only two. I decided it better to not bring it to Jason's attention, though he may have noticed the same. We stood facing the doorway for some time, although time was not a concept we could accurately follow, not in that house. Then, without warning, blood splattered across my face.

I turned to see a hand stuck through the back of Jason's head. As the hand retracted and Jason fell, I saw the mannequin version of Peter standing in the way. This time however, I wasn't going to let him live. I dove forward, tackling Peter and driving my scissors into the mannequin head of his.

I opened my eyes inside the furnace room, my scissors sticking out of a mannequins head that was not attached to any sorry of body and the dead body of Jason laying behind me, tied to my arm. I needed to lose him to move, so I tried to cut the-... it was no longer the bathroom shower curtain. It was a steel chain. Whatever controlled the house was more powerful than I thought. I knew what I had to do however, and I grabbed Jason's knife, which somehow ended up on the floor beside me, and began to cut away, hacking Jason's arm off. However, when I looked down, I once again began to cry.

It was me, I was cutting my own arm off. Jason was me, but I was me. I don't know how to explain it. I wasn't Jason, I know I wasn't. I looked just as me, but Jason looked just as me. I couldn't let this stop me though, so I continued cutting, cutting my own arm off. I could feel a sharp pain in my actual arm, the arm on my body, but I didn't stop. I didn't stop. I kept cutting, and cutting, cutting until the arm fell of. My arm. Blood began to run pour like a river down my side. I looked down again, to see Jason laying, with a bathroom shower curtain tied to his arm, and my own severed arm beside him. The house had tricked me again, I cut my own arm off. I gave up.

July 18th, 1998
I tried to die, I really did, but I awoke in the living room, with a mannequin's arm crudely sewed to my right side. I checked the watch, twelve-forty-nine p.m. July 18, the very same time we arrived at the home, though four days later. I sat up, still giving up, and almost subconsciously walked to the front door, knowing full well it would just lead me into another room. I didn't care anymore, I was hopeless, lost forever. For some reason, the house didn't want me dead yet. It wanted to torture me, to kill my soul and then finish the job. It already succeeded in the prior, just not the later. I opened the front door and walked throughout, waiting to see what room I would end up in.

I was outside, lying in the grass. Was it over? I could see police lights behind me, it was over. I spilled my story to the police, begging them not to go inside the house, pleading with them. They look horrified, but this was likely due to the mannequin arm sewed to my side. I watched as six police officers entered the home, and watched as the same six exited about two hours later. They told me they found nothing, no bodies, no blood, no strange occurrences, they did find one thing though, one thing I still don't understand. They found there were only five rooms upstairs, there was not a sewing room as I had claimed. However, just outside of where I claimed the sewing room to be, they found a green shirt,covered in holes, the very same one Frank had been wearing.

Present
I was forced to stay in the hospital for a long while, they tested my sanity, and found nothing was wrong besides that one night. They came to the conclusion I made it all up, made it up to block out the memory of whatever really happened. They investigated the case thoroughly, during the investigation an officer disappeared from the home. The case was under investigation for almost a decade, and then closed. It remains unsolved. But I know exactly what happened, I know. I'm telling you this now, because tonight I've decided to end it all. I can't take it anymore, for fourteen years it's ruled my life. It's ruled everything I do. I can't save myself, so I won't. Besides, I'm getting really tired of looking at this god damn mannequin.