Damen never believed in ghosts. Or any supernatural being’s at that. He was a realist, he believed that everything happened as it should be. Dame was tall, about 5 foot 10, and he weighed about 165 pounds at the least. He was a big dude, surprisingly only at the age of 19. He was a bookwork, he loved studying about quantum physics, though he never knew what a single word meant, literally. His black hair went down to his grey eyes, and he usually wore a cap, or a hat of some sort. His favorite jacket was a grey Aeropostale with maroon lettering. And he wore converse that made him look like an emo highlighter. This was Damen.
Damen had just bought a house up in a small little town in Oregon called Rouge River. As you pulled into town, there was a Cheveron gas station to the left of the road, and on the right, another line of shops and stores. Driving down and little further, there was two roads separated by a river, which was covered by lines of huge trees. The right road led to more stores, and eventually the Rouge River High School. Down the left road, there was a small line of residential property, and a few more stores. Driving down more, eventually, you get to a small little house with a great big front yard surrounded by a fence and a dirt road. This was Damens’ new house. It wasn’t much. It was a small one-story home, with a great big tree put in the front yard. (A/N: The house I am describing is a house I lived in a few years ago. I nearly died because I fell out of that “great big tree.”)
The interior wasn’t much, either. Walking into the front door, you’re met with the living room, that stretches about thirty feet long, and about 10 feet wide. On the right side from the door, there was a doorway, leading into the master bedroom, where Damen would be sleeping. Right across from the front doorway, was an opening that led into the kitchen, the stove to the left of the doorway, and cabinets lining the walls. The refrigerator was in a corner on the far side of the kitchen, that eventually opened up into the dining room. Then, turning right from the kitchen doorway, leads down a hallway. On a door to the right on the middle of the hallway, was the bathroom. And continuing down all the way leads into a spare bedroom.
Damen had finished unpacking his things finally. He stayed outside, smoking a cigarette on his concrete patio. He looked down the dirt road and saw a man walking down. He was older than Damen by years, the man was about 28 or 29. He had a tall posture, his left arm was littered with tattoos, and both of his arms we bulk, along with his entire body. This man was definitely military. He wore blue jeans, combat boots and a plain black t-shirt that was too tight on him. Damen went down the driveway, putting down the cigarette and meeting the man halfway.
“Can I help you?” Damen asked politely.
“Sorry to bother you, man, but I just wanted to say hi to my new neighbor. My name is Lance, by the way, Lance Eriksin.” Lance reached his hand out, and Damen shook it.
“I’m Damen Valtier. Nice to meet you.”
“Yeah, you too. Not to judge you or anything, but this house is kinda special to everyone in this town. Especially me.”
Damen cocked an eyebrow. “Really? Why is that?” He asked curiously.
Lance began. “Well, a few years before you cane here, a girl lived here. Her name was Dawn, Dawn Serosa. She was my best friend, and the most loved girl in the town.”
Damen smiled slightly. “What happened to her?” He asked, his curiosity growing.
“Well, one night, she wasnt answering my calls. She never ignores a chance to talk to anyone. So, I come and knock on the door, the door is already opened. So I start to look around. I walk back into the back bedroom and…” Lance was obviously troubled, his voice on the verge of breaking. “She was laying in a pool of her own blood. I freaked out and called the cops. They found out that whoever killed her cut her throat with a butcher’s knife.”
Damen felt a sudden unease in his stomach, with a very vivid image painted in his head.
“Hey, man, I’m sorry for your loss. I wish I had the chance to meet her.” Damen said softly.
“Dont worry about it, we all moved on. I still miss her though.” Lance said.
“I can tell.”
“Hey, if you ever need any help, or just need a buddy to watch football with, Im more than happy to.” Lance offered kindly.
Damen smiled at the offer. “Thanks, man, but I’ll be okay. I’ll see you around.”
“Yeah, you too.” Lance said.
The two men shook hands and parted their separate ways. Damen felt uneasy for a while after the talk. He had been thinking about what Lance had told him for the entire day. As the sun set, Damen finished unpacking his essentials. Food, water, mattress to sleep on. Just as he had layed down to rest, he heard a creak in the roof, then dust feel onto his face. He sneezed, then stood up and turned the light on. Above his mattress, there was a small little indention in the roof, square shaped with a small handle. Damen reached up and pulled down on the handle. It wouldn’t budge the first time. So, with a little more effort, Damen pulled again, this time the panel swung open, knocking him down on his b**t. When he stood up, a staircase had unfolded onto the floor.
Damn, this place is creepy, Damen thought to himself as he gazed into the dark attic. He climbed up the ladder, each rung creaking as he stepped up. As soon as he was all the way in, it was pitch black. He searched the walls blindly for a switch. As he carefully treaded forward, he felt a small touch against his forehead, the couch of a cold piece of metal. It was a pullchain. Damen quickly reached up and pulled down on the chain, soon turning on a dull florescent light. He blinked and looked around the almost empty attic, all except for one box. Damen crept over to the box, gently opening in. As he peered into the box, he saw several newspapers. With close examination, Damen realized they were all about the same topic. “The Sore Throat Killer.” There had been a strong of serial murders, all with the same M.O, a giant gash across the victims’ neck, and each murder weapon had been clarified as a meat cleaver.
Damen had goosebumps. He remembered the story Lance told him about how Dawn had been killed. His mind was racing at the possibilities that were clouding his thought. In fact, he was so deep in this trance, he didn’t realize anyone was in the attic with him until a rock smashed against his head, knocking him unconscious.
When Damen woke up, he was dizzy. Once he collected his bearings, he tried to move, but couldn’t. He was bound to a chair by a strong rope that wrapped around his thighs, arms, ankles and neck. He started to freak out.
“Hello!? Someone, help!!” He shouted out. His blood curdled in his skin as he looked around, but the rope around his neck giving him fierce rope burn.
“It’s cute how you think youre gonna be saved.” A soft female voice rang into his ear behind him. He tensed up as he felt cold hands on his shoulder.
“W-Where am I? Who the h-hell are you?” He whimpered with fear.
“You know me, silly goose! Everyone in the town did!”
Damen shook as he saw the female figure step out from behind him. Her eyes were black and empty, her clothes bloody and torn, and she wore a utility belt with various tools on them.
“You know me, don’t you?”
Damen gulped and shook, his toes clenched.
“D-Dawn, r-right?” He managed to stutter out.
“Ding Ding! We have a winner!!”
As she said this, she pulled out a long, rusty screwdriver and drove it deep into Damens’ chest, piercing his skin and driving through his muscles. Damen let out a horrifying scream of pure agony. Dawn yanked out the screwdriver, thick blood pouring from the hole in Damens’ chest.
“AAARGH!! YOU CRAZY B***H!!” Damen shouted out violently.
“Tsk tsk tsk, it’s words like that, that get you hurt!!” Dawn stabbed Damen once again, this time in his stomach. He let outhe another painful shriek, tears pouring from his eyes and blood spilling by the second. Dawn pulled the screwdriver back out of Damens’ flesh, once more stabbing him in the top of shoulder, shattering his collarbone. With another scream of agony, Damen panted painfully. Dawn left the screwdriver in his skin, then pulled out a sledgehammer from the table behind her.
“This little piggy went to the market!” Dawn said happily before raising the hammer over her head, then bringing it down hard on Damens’ left foot. Damens’ gaped his mouth open, but no sound came out. His expression was of fear and true agony.
“This little piggy went wee wee wee all the way home!”
Dawn dropped the hammer on the other foot, smashing the bones to pieces. Damen, No longer able to stand the pain, fainted.
Damen shot up out of his mattress with a loud gasp and whimper. He was sweating profusely. He ran his hands on his body, thankful he was still alive.
Damen felt a cold touch drag across his neck. He tensed up. In the next second, blood was squirting and gushing from his throat. He tried to scream, but it was smothered by him choking on his own blood. He gripped his neck, eager to stop the bleeding. He felt a sharp pain on his head. Someone gripped his hair and yanking back, forcefully ripping the wound bigger.
“Don’t you know? When you die in your dreams…”
A butcher’s knife was placed on one side of his bleeding neck.
“You die in real life.”
The cleaver yanked across Damens’ neck, nearly cutting off of his head. His body dropped like a ragdoll, blood gushing from his nearly amputated head. His body lie, limp and lifeless, resting in a pool of his own blood.