TheStormGatherer

When I was a little girl (about six years old) my family moved into an old Victorian style house on the bad side of town, it was the best we could do at the time. My family consisted of me, my younger brother, my two older sisters, and my mom. We’re born again Christians so demons are nothing new to us. Right off the bat we could tell something was off about the house, my mom would hear children’s laughter coming from upstairs when no one else was home, people would get pushed as they were walking down the stairs causing them to fall, and occasionally we would see the back of a woman resembling my sister in law (who did not live with us) running on all fours up the old servants staircase that went from the kitchen into the back upstairs bedroom.

For about two years of the seven we lived there the creepy encounters were fairly harmless but something changed, I’m not sure what triggered it but things took a sort of a meaner turn.

One night I was laying on my bed reading when I heard something rustle in my closet, I assumed it was my sisters cat so I ignored it and kept reading. A few minutes went by and I heard more rustling, starting to get a bit creeped out I put my book down and sat up to listen, hoping it had just been my imagination. That’s when I heard it, a low whisper coming from behind the door, “Tempeeeest, hey Tempest come over here and open the door. We want to talk to you.” At first I thought it might be one of my sisters trying to scare me so I responded to the voice saying “Tessa if you’re trying to scare me it’s not working. I’m trying to read and if you don’t leave me alone then I’m going to tell mom.”  The voice quietly laughed, “I’m not Tessa. Come here and talk to us, we have something we need to tell you.”

The doorknob started slowly turning and the rustling got louder, “Come here, we won’t hurt you.” I was scared now, I didn’t want to see what was in my closet. I didn’t want to hear what they had to say so I stood up on my bed and clutched a pillow in front of me as I said to the voice, “I’m not going to open the door and I’m done talking to you, I know what you are and you can’t hurt me!” I swear that door started to slowly open, whatever was in there had decided it was coming to me.

I threw my pillow as hard as my scrawny eight year old arms could at the closet and leapt off my bed to the bedroom door just a few feet away and ran screaming downstairs to my mom. She had heard me scream and was already running to the stairs ready to beat the crap out of whatever had scared me. She immediately went up to my closet and whipped the door open only to find nothing, she searched the entire house including the attic and the basement. Absolutely nothing.

The next day my older brother came by, he and my mom went through the house anointing every doorway and praying over every room. That stopped the majority of the activity but occasionally one of us would wake up with a six fingered handprint bruised into our ribs or across our necks. 

I wish I could say that the activity stopped after we moved. Unfortunately it continued but that’s another story for a different day.

Quote 2 0
Write a reply...