A Tale of the Rooftop Rover

Unrighteous-DelinquentLeave a comment

Dear Diary:

The former apparition that was accustomed to roaming the rooftop has returned, in addition to similar anomalies that previously occurred during my stay in the grandmother suite. Since abandoning that portion of the house more than a year ago, on behalf of threatening disturbances on a daily basis, I have not taken residence in the suite, and merely utilize the space for storage. However, on account of a clogged pipe in the main kitchen recently, I resorted to visiting the kitchenette in that portion of the home, considering that my only alternative was to install a temporary sink for dish washing purposes.

As a result of deserting that section of the house over one year ago, and assigning the main house as my permanent living quarters, the clomping boots on the rooftop and the sound of a creaky door had ceased. In fact, the majority of evil doings had come to a halt, as though the demonic activity was unable to escape the suite and the breezeway connected to the main house. I considered the lack of activity a blessing, on account of having no where else to live throughout the home’s endless renovations.

In the present circumstances:

This morning, on the boundary line of three o’clock ante meridiem, I jolted in my blankets when the ruckus of clomping boots trampled across the rooftop. Acting accordingly, I rushed toward my golf bag in the guest room, watching steadily at the ceiling as I fumbled through the clubs for my driver.

Straightaway I moved stealthily through the darkness, pursuing the weighty strides toward the bonus room and into the back of the house. And with my club arched over my right shoulder, prepared to strike, I idiotically darted outside into the nighttime atmosphere, expecting to rush into the house upon witnessing the culprit.

While standing doltishly beneath the moonlight, armed with a golf club in the chilled air, there was evidence of absolutely nothing on the roof of my home. Although I gained distance, backing several yards into the night in order to capture sight of the entire rooftop, there was nothing, not a tree nearby, nor a lick of wind.

Upon returning to my bedroom, on the brink of calling my mother (yes, I’m a bit of a weenie), I suddenly recalled the accounts I experienced during my short stay in the grandmother suite the year before last. That was the moment I realized, the rooftop rover had returned!

My mother’s notion is that a construction worker or a roofing contractor possibly died while in the process of building the house; a close friend of mine believes a two-story home existed on the plot previous to my home being built, theorizing that the homeowner roams the second story, while opening and closing the door with the screeching hinges; as for what I believe, I believe I’m in debt to a distressed home that shows little promise.

The Contemplation of Publicizing to Outsiders

Unrighteous-DelinquentLeave a comment

Dear Diary:

Explain to me the shame in mentioning paranormal phenomena to outsiders. I’m bloody cursed, I’ll tell you: the moment I’ve accumulated a substantial amount of courage, suddenly I hesitate, and then cower entirely from mentioning the subject, as if acknowledging otherworldly substance was taboo.

Perhaps the underlying factor in my predicament derives from the fear of launching a distress signal, announcing my vulnerability and incompetence, as opposed to the fear of outsiders passing judgment on the preternatural events in my household.

I’ve propelled myself into deprivation, Diary, whereas guidance from professionals (i.e., my psychologist or a paranormal investigator) has become unobtainable, on account of withholding information pertaining to my experiences regarding the supernatural. It’s discomforting to recognize myself as the enemy, but furthermore, it’s unacceptable to become the culprit of emotional abuse, due to neglecting my psychological welfare.

All right already! Eventually I’ll tuck in my pride as neatly as I tuck in one of my collared shirts, and disclose the acutely distressing details to a qualified individual. But in the meantime, Diary, I’m going to remain tight-lipped in the presence of outsiders in reference to paranormal phenomena. Capiche?!

The Disheartening Testimony of Unanswered Prayers

Unrighteous-DelinquentLeave a comment

Dear Diary:

Currently, my life sucks! As a former Christian, I distinctly comprehend the significance behind for better or for worse, whereas, I persisted in praising God for life’s downfalls, in addition to life’s windfalls. However, lately, I’ve felt my life has become purposeless and insignificant, while partially convinced that I’m stranded in an overbearing world without legitimate instructions for an escape route.

Diary, immediately eliminate thoughts regarding suicide! You ought to feel ashamed for deeming me incapable of tolerating life’s challenges. You know, it is conceivable that I may be undergoing some form of climacteric phase, or perhaps I’m experiencing the onslaught of depression—or oppression, for that matter.

In reference to the paranormal activity in my home, through research I’ve read that demonic influence is capable of oppressing human beings to a great extent. Nonetheless, it would be rather complicated to accept these particulars as a liable explanation for the lackluster haze that has engulfed my life. My education concerning the supernatural merely reflects on unverified content from the Internet and from personal experience, leaving me ignorant to the effects of a hardcore demonic oppression. In my opinion, investigating the possibility of depression would likely inspire my therapist, as opposed to mentioning demonic warfare around my home and the possible impression it has on my behavior.

In the meantime, Diary, I lay frightened in my bed at night, my prayers unanswered while the unseen entity claims its nightly position at my side, where it unlawfully caresses my hair and exposed skin for its personal enjoyment. I prayed with desperation as a devout Christian, and continued to pray, despite losing my faith; nevertheless, I remain a victim to foul matter as I lay helpless to its endeavors.

Due to circumstance, Diary, I’m unable to praise God for life’s downfalls.

The Opening to a Blank Diary

Unrighteous-DelinquentLeave a comment

Dear diary:

Today I created an online blog to document my paranormal experiences and additional problems around my dilapidated house. I’m slightly apprehensive over people’s comments and emails regarding my situation, but honestly, at this point in my life, I will not read them and weep.

For two days I’ve felt overly-fatigued and uninterested in most everything, aside from food, of course. You know, more than anyone, Diary, my infatuation with food. The good stuff, never processed, and always fresh . . . I’d better stop before my drool drips onto the keyboard.

I haven’t slept well for the past two evenings. The activity around the house has heightened, for unknown reasons, under the category of voices, scuffling and pounding sounds, and one of the doors closing on its own. I’ve lived in this wreckage-of-a-home for a bit over two years, and never has that heavy, slatted-glass door budged on its own. This morning, during breakfast and coffee, the most bizarre sound approached me from underneath the dining room table. It started out as a hissing noise, followed by a gruff thud. I didn’t lose my marbles, as I’ve grown used to the evil in my newfound home, but I did remain paralyzed for some time while sorting out the possibilities. Diary, there were no additional possibilities to suspect anything other than a supernatural occurrence. This frightens me, as the majority of demonic activity remained in the opposite section of the house, now suddenly, the main house is burdened with anomalies. I don’t wish to become attacked with scratches and groping hands, as I did while living in the grandmother suite, as the previous owner titled that portion of the home.

I’m exhausted, Diary, not only from lack of sleep. There’s no money for repairs, and while struggling to acclimate to a fixer-upper with no proper kitchen and other facilities, I feel like I’m weakening to the evil that’s bargaining for my soul.