This is a true story of the events that took place as I grew up. So just a taste of what I go throuh every day, that almost nobody understands. If you're interested in the supernatural, you just may love it. If not however; if you are one to shy away, or have nightmares, well then you're better off reading some of my sappy poetry. Take into consideration that everything in this story has actually happened to me, in my seventeen years so far. Please, take your time to enjoy it. Feel free to message or comment any questions you may have.(:
Introduction
When I was about seven, my mother married a horrid man just a few years her senior. He had a house, and enough money to support our family. His house was infested with rats and cockroaches, however, and my siblings and I were constantly forced to clean it. I had always gotten a strange, rather unusual feeling from being there, but it wasn't 'till a few years later that I learned what it was. I am the youngest of all my siblings; (there are six of us). I was raised to be a very strong and devout Catholic, and said my prayers every night. But there may have been a few things holding me back.
Growing up, I had it rough. Not like the regular household rough, but I was abused and molested on a daily basis, by my stepfather. Back and rear beaten into bloody unconsciousness, tongue swollen by being proded with live batteries, hands puffy from being rapped with rulers, and all for just being alive. That isn't even a sizeable fraction of it. For some reason, for around two years, he held me back from going to church, which did not at all help the situation at hand. His house was very old, and many would say it has a creepy sort of vibe to it. I lived there with my five siblings, but I had always had my own view on things, different and set apart. My bottom bunk bed was in the back room, facing straight down the hallway when I turned away from the wall.
One night, at ten years old, I looked up, and my life was changed forever. I saw an undefined black figure with red eyes, glaring at me from down the hallway. First I thought it was a nightmare, until I heard my stepfather's computer chair creak from the living room. I began to shake, but I didn't cry. Along with daily beatings and sexual harassment, we were given rules. My mother being a workoholic, never truly realized what was going on. One of our rules was that we were not to cry. No. We were never, ever, under any circumstance allowed to cry, or the punishment would worsen.
This rule in mind, I laid there and shook, thinking it was a hallucination, hoping that it was a hallucination. However, from that night on, I saw them everywhere. Rushing past the windows, down the hallway, in the corner of my room,on the roof, almost anywhere I looked. But most of all, in the gleaming eye of my torturer.
