Have You Ever Had That Feeling?



  Have You Ever Had That Feeling?

  By Gagee Ashby

  Copyright 2014 Gagee Ashby

  Table of Contents:

  Have You Ever Had That Feeling?

  About the Author

  Connect with the Author

  Have You Ever Had That Feeling?

  Have you ever had that feeling, that feeling that something is with you? The cold chill you feel when you're all alone, it usually means you are not alone. We've all felt it. But I have experienced much worse. Imagine a feeling that possesses you to completely lose control, which makes you question your faith and the surreal nature of existence.

  I've felt that once. I can't show you how it feels; you wouldn't want that. How about I tell you of my experience instead?

  I had bought a new house. It was once a beautiful plantation house. Not anymore. It was run down and abandoned now. The sorts of stuff nightmares are made from. Windows were broken, vines grew all over, and the very land itself had not been cared for in a few decades.

  “This will be a great project,” I had convinced myself. I was wrong. When I first entered the place, I had the oddest feeling. I assumed it must’ve been the dust in the place, thought.

  It was summer and I just had a divorce a mere month before. I bought that home in the south to get away. The house would be something to work on, to keep my mind off of things for a time.

  When I moved in, I brought only my suitcase with a couple pairs of clothes and my journal. I wrote in it often and knew I would need it for my time here. I’d have no guests or help until I had finished the interior.

  Moth eaten sheets lay over old furniture. I removed them, careful not to get dust everywhere. A beautiful couch, table, and a chair spanned the living room. A rather large fireplace sat against a rather blank wall.

  After I had removed the sheets from the rest of the house, I returned to the living room and opened my journal.

  Day 1: I have stumbled upon something great! This house is fully furnished and will need minimal work inside. Just some cleaning. The air is thick, however. Perhaps I had stirred up dust accidentally. This will be good for me.

  My sleep that night was restless. Images filled my mind, not the dream or nightmare sort, no. It was like watching a slideshow of what happens when people drink and drive, or more accurately, when people park their cars on railroad tracks. In the morning, I did not remember what I saw.

  I woke the next morning cold and yet covered with sweat. I ached to remember my “dream”. Nothing came to mind. I started my day with dusting. Dust covered every inch of the house. It was easy to clean. Sometimes before I’d finish, I’d write my name in it and wipe it off. You know those Swiffer duster things? I used four of them for each room. And yet, each room was a little worse than the last. I had just reached the living room, and I discovered something was very wrong.

  The lights in the room had busted. Glass lay all over the floor, from the chandelier to the old lamp on the far wall. The only light came from the fireplace. Embers appeared, and slowly grew to a flame. It seemed to be alive, as the shadows it cast moved and the fireplace itself seemed to form a mouth.

  The shadows it cast seemed to show people; dark figures in a flickering light. I noticed that it wasn’t just people. They were angels fighting demons, or so it seemed. Hell had engulfed my living room. The fire seemed to grow to swallow everything, including me. I feared for my life. Then, a shadow, much different than the others, drifted toward me. It was blacker than the rest. Black as pitch, and yet it seemed humanlike. The darkest of human souls couldn't fill this void that was standing in front of me. I collapsed. I tried to crawl away, unable to break my gaze of the fiend. I passed out.

  I awoke that night on the couch. Had it been a dream? No, it was too real, too horrible. What was going on in this place? I wondered. It was four o’clock when I woke. The glass was no longer all over the floor. Each piece was in its correct place. Except for one, which had been placed upon me. In the piece reflected an eye. Not my own, but of something else. I held on to the broken glass. Proof that what had happened happened. Not proof to anyone else, but proof to myself. That night, I saw Hell.

  I couldn’t sleep for the rest of that night. I began cleaning again. I cleaned everywhere; my mind was racing. Then I discovered a door, a very old wooden door. A cold, spine-chilling draft came from the cracks around the door. I opened it to find the darkest room in the house. Stairs stood at the base of the door, I could tell. They led down, to a basement, I was sure.

  As I searched for a light switch, I stumbled a couple of times, and as I stepped, a loud crunch came from beneath my feet. The floor was unstable to say the least. I finally found the switch. It was a string hanging from a bulb that swung from the ceiling. I pulled the string and the light shone, and begun swinging slightly. The room was still dark. The floor was perfect cement, just cold. There was no trace of the crunching on the floor.

  In the room stood two tables, and shelves along the far walls. It was a very dull and empty basement. That place needed a lot of cleaning. The rest of my day had been spent in the darkest room of my new home. I finally turned out the light and left toward the living room. I retrieved my journal.

  Day 2: Today I found the basement. It was dark, the darkest room in the house. It was cold and covered in dust. The cold air came from a breeze in a small crack in the wall. Erik's coming tomorrow. He's bringing my things from my ex wife's house. 

  The next morning I awoke to a loud rapping noise. At first I panicked. But slowly, as I came to my senses, I realized it was the front door. I rubbed my eyes as I headed toward the door. I had reached the entrance hall, and discovered my younger brother Erik was making his way in, carrying a few boxes.

  Erik was three years younger than I, and was a short, bulky, balding man. He had our father’s hair, bald before thirty. His naturally bright blue eyes were glum and filled with grief.

  “How’d you get in? I had the door locked,” I asked as he entered slowly.

  He replied, “After I knocked a couple of times, it just opened. I thought you had unlocked it.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe the lock I just bought was faulty. I’ve had to replace so much here,” I said, annoyed.

  I shrugged it off and bade him into my home. We brought the boxes into my basement. Not much was said between us. He had seen my ex, my Jennifer, and it had hurt him. I had to know why.

  “So how was she?” I asked, not sure of what he seen.

  “She’s holding up. I… I couldn’t believe it. I’m sorry John.” He answered softly, as he set down a box.

  I shook my head and looked around. I was hurt, and that hurt him too. Jennifer had changed so much. Our daughter, she was going to grow up without me, and I couldn’t do anything about it.

  As I looked around, I noticed a small metal box had been placed upon a table in the middle of the room. Had Erik brought this? It was old. Rust covered almost every inch of it. I wondered if it would still open.

  “Erik, is that your box?” I asked, pointing at the strange object.

  “Nope. Never seen that in my life. It looks like junk.” He said, glaring at it.

  An old, old, old time capsule maybe? Staring at it, I grew a sudden urge to open it and to stay back. The former took over me.

  “Open it, Erik.”

  “Hah! No thanks, it reeks. Smells like grandma.”

  “But you loved her. It should bring back so many memories.”

  “Loved her? You were always Grandma’s “little helper”. You open it.”

  “Fine. But you gotta stay with me, alright? If I find a hand in there, I’m throwing it to you.”

  I opened the box. As
its door slowly, grudgingly opened up, a green glow came from the box. The lid flung open. The eerie green light filled the room. My eyes were fixed on it. Images filled my mind; strange images of people, ghostly figures in a green fog.

  Suddenly, my thoughts turned to Erik. As I looked toward him, he collapsed. His face was struck with horror, the strongest man I knew was paralyzed by what he saw.

  “Erik! Erik, wake up! Please… don’t do this to me…” I screamed at him. The box closed. The green light disappeared and the single bulb in the middle of the room exploded. Alone in the dark, I couldn’t find my way. I began to hear whispers; strange voices filled the air. I could no longer hear Erik breathing. I felt around for him, but did so in vain. I lost consciousness.

  I awoke the next day to find myself on the couch once more. Erik was nowhere to be seen. Had it been a dream? It was too real once again. Not hell this time, no. This was something else entirely. I sprung up to look for Erik.

  I entered the basement with a flashlight. The dark seemed unforgiving and merciless. I called for him, heard no reply, save a harsh breath. I looked around and finally discovered my brother. He had crumpled up and was shaking. I rolled him over and seen his face. It was cut and scratched. His eyes were egg white.

  I tried to carry him up the stairs to no avail. I had to drag him, the softest I could possibly do. He would never forgive me had he known what was happening. Finally we reached the top and I tried to wake him. Nothing. I called for an ambulance.

  They arrived in no longer than thirty minutes and took him to the hospital. I stayed behind and would visit him in the morning. I felt as though I had not slept at all. I could hear those voices still, loud and relentless. Fortunately though, I could drown them out often with Beethoven or Mozart.

  As the weeks rolled on, I grew paranoid. Always I felt as though someone were watching me, and I would turn around as quick as I could. Often, amongst the whispers, I heard footsteps and closing doors. I put on a record and sat, ready to write another entry.

  Day 31: Whispers. Shadows in the dark. The house talks to me, and I respond. We talk of everything, flowers, mold, trees, and cucumbers. – I don’t know why this is happening to me. GO AWAY- You leave me no choice. I… I… I…

  I put the journal down, unsure of what I had just written. My mind didn’t seem to be mine anymore. I was lost to this house. My brother was dead now. They didn’t know what from, but I did. That house killed him. And it would surely do the same to me. But I could not leave. I hadn’t had a party yet.

  Over the next week I had prepared for a showing of my grand, clean, new home. It was a marvel to behold. This party would be magnificent! An old style masquerade ball, for an old style house, that should please it. I was wrong.

  Many guests had arrived by the evening. Old friends, co-workers, and family had gathered at my new home. They were pleased to see how well I had been doing. If only they knew the truth. The evening wore on and all the guests had a wonderful time thus far, I hoped to finish it with a bang.

  In the dining hall, we had all sat at my elongated table to eat, and I rose to make an announcement.

  “Thank you all for coming. Thank you so much. My time here has been brief, but my presence will last forever. As will you all. Welcome to my home, I hope you had a lovely evening. I’m sorry.”

  The guests were baffled. If only you could’ve seen their faces! After my speech, the lights went out. Screams filled my dining hall. Not just screams of fear, but screams of terror beyond imagination, blood curdling and thunderous.

  When the lights had returned, only I remained. Scratch marks and blood were everywhere. This sacrifice would sate the hunger from which controlled my abode. I left the room. My house should have been happy now. It was. Though I could not leave it. It was as much a part of me, as I was of it. I remain there still, my dark home, in the middle of nowhere, and my skipping Beethoven record. I became whole.

  Day: Unknown. I am myself no longer. I am this house and it, I. We are whole. We killed them all. If Jennifer could see, see what I have become. We are happy.

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  About the Author:

  Gagee Ashby is from St. Joseph, Missouri and is currently working toward a Bachelor’s of Fine Arts degree in Creative Writing for entertainment.

  Connect with Me Online:

  Twitter: https://twitter.com/GageeBAshby

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