The tape recorder's 'record' button clicked in as the man looked into my eyes, and said, "Please state your name, age, and the reason you requested my visit."
This is it, "My name is Jasper, Jasper Lilinouir, age 20. I've always thought I was haunted. Ever since I turned six, things began to move around on their own, but this usually only happened when I was alone."
The man nodded his head, a pen scribbling along a notepad, possibly as a backup method of recording our conversation, before saying, "Can you give me an example of one of these hauntings?"
"Alright... Once, at age 6, I was playing in the sandbox in my backyard, and the dinosaur shovel I was using flew out of my hand. The green handle of the shovel bent into the shape of a nasty grin, accompanied by a disturbing gurgling sound, as if someone was attempting to talk after having their throat slit. I screamed, running back inside my house and crying to my parents."
The man's hazel eyes devoured the image of my figure as he looked back up from his note pad, giving me a look that seemed to tell me to continue.
"However, when I turned eighteen, whatever it was got violent. It threw things at me, rather than around me, and it began to whisper to me when my loved ones would die, and it was accurate. It never told me to end my own life, it just kept forcing me to live in fear, threatening to kill my family, until one day it must've been satisfied with its fill of my fear... It has been silent for two years. I've honestly grown a bit numb to fear after living with it for so long."
The man looked back up at me with his hazel eyes, before saying, "What do you mean silent?"
"It hasn't contacted me ever since, not a single word, nor vision," I replied.
The man continued to look at me, then stopped the tape recorder, a wide grin appearing on his face.
His eyes rolled like a slot machine, blue, green, brown, finally landing on the color red when he mockingly said, "What do you mean Jasper, I'm right here..."
"Huh- Ack..."
My throat began to fill with the warmth of my own blood, though I couldn't seem to feel the pain that should accompany this. I see, that gargling from back then must've been some kind of warning that I would die making a similar sound 14 years later, my throat slit open. I'm not even scared, so this thing never got its last meal from me.
'God will probably pay me back for all the suffering I've went through...'
I died, only to be given a rude awakening.
I had no stairway to salvation, only a highway to damnation.
The last thing I experienced before I realized that, is a surge of heat burning up my body, and then the gentle embrace of the shadows.
I was roused to my senses by the smell of rancid meat, and met with an endless nothingness. The only thing I could use to know I was conscious was the smell, and the strong desire to instill fear unto others.
'Where... where am I?'
I truly couldn't see anything. There are no pearly white gates, nor is there a pit of flames and screaming souls. It made me wonder if death was meant to feel like this, like nothing. I admit that the smell did give me a mild discomfort, but not because I was repelled by it. The smell just made me feel like... it was above me, maybe something similar to seniority?
However, that doesn't make much sense. How could a smell be my senior, and how could it make me feel inferior to it, as if it was my employer, or some kind of idol? Also, this feeling, this desire to terrorize a living-being. That thing that haunted me, this must be similar to its desires, but, what is that supposed to mean for me? If I was to believe this desire is mine, and not some kind of lingering trauma, then, I'd have to be one of its kind.
Well, whatever 'its kind' really is. That is impossible though, I'm a human who has been unable to be reached by God's helping hand on Earth, therefore God must feel some type of guilt for the life I've had to suffer through. Though I didn't tell that man I first thought was an exorcist, who actually must've been the thing haunting me, I've prayed at God's churches, cried reading and spreading God's word, but I've never received help. Despite that, I might still have been abandoned by God, even in death?
[Time Passes In The Never-Ending Nothingness]
'Some savior,' I've repeated these words, or something similar, in my mind, each syllable filled with animosity towards God for hours, possibly days, but I have no way to tell the exact time elapsed.
Maybe something heard me in this never ending nothingness, and decided to respond to my hate, and to my desires, setting a fire to my soul. Whatever it was, could it be mocking me? Or, is this some kind of 'divine' judgement for questioning God's actions? Whatever it was, it felt familiar.
'W-What is this?!' I could only question the nature of the heat as it spread across my 'body', engulfing all that I am.
'Why are you doing this to me, huh?! If that's you, God, or one of your angels, why have you abandoned me... DO YOU THINK THIS WILL COVER IT UP?! Huh,' the pain got worse when I asked why I was being burned, but when I showed my hate towards God, it hurt a little less.
I continued to question the flames nature, and the flame continued to burn brighter, tearing layers away from my body, 'Could it be?'
It really does seem that the more I questioned the flames, the more intense they began to burn, but if I slandered God, the flames dimmed. So, possibly, if I stop worrying about the flames... However, not worrying about such an intense pain is easier said than done. I can't even describe what it feels like to be slowly peeled, maybe an onion might share similar sentiments. Luckily, hating God is easy to do.
Jesus isn't even his son, it's just his other name, he only claims Jesus is his son to throw himself a pity party, he sacrificed himself, not his son, 'Your just a fucking sly piece of shit, the pain from having to give up on your child... it hurts more than having a few nails driven through you!'
I'd know, because I'm not the only person in my family that God abandoned, or took away. I got engaged when I was twelve, our parents were close, and our families were both wealthy. It was a bit awkward at first, as we didn't know each other well, and had nothing to talk about. Her name was Alice.
We slowly opened up to each other though, and she'd quietly talk to me while moving a bit closer to me, "U-uh... what d-do you like to do? I do a little dancing... Huh? Uh, um, no I've n-never done that..."
She asked the first question, her voice was quiet and gentle, though her nervousness caused her no small amount of stuttering. When I first heard her talk, I was instantly convinced that she was the one for me. Maybe it was the hormones going through me at the time, but I truly thought she would be the one for me, for all of my life.
As we grew more comfortable, her gentle voice became louder, her advances bolder, and over the years, she had completely opened up to me, "Really? Haha, you must've been so nervous, you poor thing..."
By seventeen, she confided in me every chance she got, always wanting to be around me, and the same went for me. Every time she was about to talk, she'd coyly move her golden hair behind her ear, a sense of longing coming from her blue eyes. Our love grew passionate, kissing and cuddle sessions were not uncommon. As opposed to before, she would now openly lean against me, her fair pale skin rubbing against my tattered tanned skin, roughened up from all the times I tripped when trying to get away from the thing haunting me. Whenever I was terrified, I would cuddle up to her, trying to calm myself down.
The moment I turned eighteen, we couldn't be more excited, having planned our wedding long ago, we quickly got married, our rings shining as brightly as our love. It was also the time that the thing got more violent, but while its violence grew, our love blossomed into a flower bud. She was pregnant, and it was the best and worst news in my life.
'A father, I'm going to be a father!'
'Is it safe to have a kid... with this thing around? It has gotten pretty violent lately.'
'It's worth it! I'll protect my baby no matter what!'