When I was a teenager, my family lived in a rural town hidden in the mountains. It was a typical life. Our days were spent taking hikes on the trails, or swimming in the nearby lake. Our main concern was avoiding the ever-present bears, being sure to peek around bends in the trail as we walked. For a while everything seemed perfect, until we moved to the house on Hemlock Street. It was a duplex and my family lived on the top floor, three rooms and a bathroom down the hallway with a wide open living space complete with a fireplace. It was a great house. At the time there was no one in the downstairs apartment so we had the property to ourselves. For a while it was great.
Then one night as I tried to fall asleep I started hearing voices, I couldn’t make out the words but they sounded angry. I brushed it off as my parents fighting and fell asleep.
Over the next few weeks the voices got louder, more distinct. I started to recognize the different speakers. One was an older man, he was the angry one. The other was a young boy, and he was scared. As I started to listen more I could pick up words, the man wanted to do something, he was mad and wanted to hurt someone. The little boy begged him not to, he would cry and scream no. I tried to tell my parents what was going on, my dad told me to stop (he doesn’t believe in the paranormal and hates when I talk about it).
I started turning on my radio at night to drown them out, with the music playing I could pretend their voices were part of the music, it helped me sleep but my radio would never be on when I woke up.
I remember one morning waking up to find my stuffed bear was under my desk chair, its head crushed under the leg. Every morning something would be moved or would have gone missing.
The voices continued, every night the man would yell and the child would beg. It got to the point I would hear them in my dreams, nightmares of the man telling me things, telling me to do things became a nightly occurrence.
On one occasion I dreamt of my little sister, the man wanted me to hurt her, I refused and he told me it was her or me.
In the morning when I came out for breakfast my parents asked me if I felt better. Not understanding the question I asked why, they told me that during the night I had walked out and asked for my sister, I had been insistent on knowing where she was.
I was done, that night when I went to bed I told them to leave, they weren’t welcome and I wanted them gone.
It was quiet, there were no voices. For the first night in almost two years I felt alone and safe. I laid in bed and drifted off, when I felt a weight on my bed almost like someone was sitting right behind me.
I lay frozen as the mattress started to move. Cold air blew on my ear and I felt a hand on my arm.
“DIE! ANNE!!” The mans voice screamed in my ear, needless to say I jumped up and ran from my room. I slept on the couch that night. I never heard the voices again after that, I didn’t tell anyone what had happened. Until a couple of years ago when my little sister asked me if I remembered the man. She told me about the man who lived in my room. She then said,
“He hated you Anne… he wanted you to die,” I tried to laugh it off but she continued,
“Don’t you remember? He used to scream at you. He was mad you didn’t listen.”
