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Rated: E · Short Story · Horror/Scary · #1266680
Childhood memories are not always good things.
My strongest memory from when I was young was the crawlspace underneath our old house. I'll never forget it, and for a good reason, too. When I was young and foolish, I vowed never to speak of what I had seen. But now I am older, much older, and I now realize that I must warn the future generations of what dwells there. Why, you ask? Think about it, there must be a reason I am forced to spend my adult life in the Texas State Penitentary.
As far back as I can remember, our family had always lived in the last house on the left on Coronado Drive. It's quite possible that I had been born and had lived in an entirely different place, but I simply can't remember; I never had a great memory.
As soon I was able to walk, I discovered the crawlspace that lead to our basement. During my younger years, I spent the majority of my time there, playing with my toys, or other useless activities. Although the thick layer of dust below me made it hard to breath, I played, ate, read, fantasized about this or that, everyday until I turned eleven, until I saw it.
The firey-red eyes seemed to stare deep into my soul. It could talk, it even talked to me. Of course, I don't know why, nor how, I did not stay in the crawlspace long enough to find out. I am even to this day positive that no horror has ever been matched. I crawled (at this age I was too tall to move any other way) as fast as I could, bursting the crawlspace door open where it stood, locked it, and ran into my room to cower in fear.
My family knew that there was something wrong when I didn't leave my room for two-and-one-half days. But no matter how much they begged and pleaded for me to move, I refused to even twitch.
On the third day of me hiding in fear of the beast that lurked in the crawlspace, the rest of my family joined together to take me by force from my haven. The one true reason I let them take me was because they were only taking me farther from that forsaken house.
After the six-hour drive, they forced me into this very room.
Even to this day, I sit in the same room, in the middle of the floor, so nothing can get to me. Ha, and they say I'm crazy.
© Copyright 2007 Rory Cassidy (notme68 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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