Death is never evitable for all living things, they say death isn't the end. It's the gateway to the unknown world, in which the living are scared to find out.
"Timmy stop playing with your balloon in the car, your Daddy is driving" my mum shouted.
I was little, stubborn and filled with energy. I refused to heed to her warnings, as I was happy about my friend's birthday party we were coming from. As my mum was on a call gisting about the event she went to. I mistakenly let the balloon out of my hands and my reach and it flew over my Dad, who was driving. I tried to take it out, but it in the end, it was causing distraction to him, which caused an accident.
Our car ran under a truck, and since then, I lost my Mum and Dad. I just can't forget the screams of my mother and how the car tumbled. It was all my fault.
Now I'm an orphan and it has been difficult for anyone to adopt me, because they felt, they can't take away that pain and memory I had at that incident. I was eight when all this happened. At 12years, I was finally adopted by a couple. Judging by their looks they should be in their late 60's and they look rich. They had this weird look, when taking me in as their child. As if it was for a specific purpose, not really for love.
The journey to their house was a distant and tiring one, as they stayed far away from city and live in a small community called Blue Rivers. They own a mansion, by its looks, it must have been an inherited one. Everything in there was old, having ancient items and old family portraits. I was ushered into my room, by the housemaid. The room was three times bigger than the one I had at the orphanage. It was much larger and had a warm and welcoming atmosphere to it, with a good view. And close to the house was a swimming pool. I was so happy that my room was large enough to contain all the new friends, I was going to make. Since I left the old ones at the orphanage. Most of all, I was relieved from its noise and torturing exercises.
My first night, I slept more comfortably than I had done for a long time, no one snoring into my face or someone's feet hitting my stomach, because of nightmares.
I woke up the next day feeling so refreshed and relaxed. Then the housemaid knocked on my door and said, " I was instructed to show you around the house, as Mr and Mrs Wilson are off to the town hall meeting."
I went with her, she showed me round the house, then we went to the attic, where the history of the house and family were kept. I was told to take anything I wanted, but I should be careful on how I used them.
I noticed something weird, something odd about an old dark grey armchair. It was like, it was calling out to me. Why I felt it's pull? I don't know. The chair was made with animal skin, but had some stains of blood on it, dried blood. I took the chair and placed it at the side of my room door. I left to have breakfast at the dining room and I came back to my room, to find the armchair facing the entrance of the door. Empty and looming. What unsettled me was that I could have sworn that before I had left the room, the chair was at the side of the door. Who could have turned it? Now, in the cold light of the day, the chair was facing me. Maybe it was the maid, who could have moved it, as I assumed.
The second night was peaceful and calm, but something broke the quietness. I was hearing whispers down the hallway, and a solid march of foot steps, I didn't want to acknowledge those sounds, because I don't believe in supernatural forces.
I lay there satisfied, satisfied with today's activity. Until I heard something, the quiet inaudible sound of someone else in the room breathing in and out without ceasing. It felt like it was making rhymes and without pause. I was not entirely afraid but I was at alert. The breathing was so distant, but still I remained calm and believed that it was probably my imagination playing tricks on me.
I stepped out of my bed, walked across the room and turned the light on, though it was dim. The sound suddenly stopped, but when I turned, the old dark grey chair was facing the foot of my bed. I cast my gaze across the room to see, if anything was there or hiding, as I turned the chair backwards. Then I stepped back to the bed.
In the dim light, I was staring at the chair, but also staring at the recent image formed there, sitting on the chair. As I try to figure who exactly was that? And how it can there? I could only see the shadow of the back of its head, the rest hidden by the backrest of the chair. I sat motionless, staring, shaking, praying and hoping that my eyes were just deceiving me or were being misled by its surrounding. That it was just my mere imagination.
The slow creak of movement, as it shifted the chair, freaked me. This was no mere trick of the dark or a dead imagination. Then, it shifted further unto its left side. I knew it was trying to make a turn, to look at me. I saw a part of it, even when the room seemed darker than everything around it. It had a very hairy hands with a long finger nails, which slip over the crest of the chair. Even with the silence of the room, my heart beat was racing out loud.
At first I could only make out the outline of its forehead, which had two horns, but then it stood, its height was very tall, perhaps seven feet tall, with glossy black skin and huge pointed ears, and it had four arms. Rather than the customary two. I could only see the signs of hair on its hands. Then it slowly turned at me, revealing its two red dark eyes of its deeply set eye sockets.
It was staring at me.
I screamed, and leaped out of my bed and ran for my dear life, ran towards my foster parents room. And vowed never to step my foot into that demonic room again.
Or see the demonic chair again.
