I've been wrestling with sharing this story for some time, because there are so many other stories interwoven. Recently I realized that most of my life's negative happenings are intertwined, and I believe this single being to be the cause of it. I will begin by saying that my father was deep into satanic occult activity-- and I'm not referring to witchcraft, or neo-paganism, or Wicca. In his late teens and early twenties, my father was in constant dealings with demons, sending them to do various things to different people. In return, of course, was nothing positive. He practiced these things in a Victorian house in Denver, Colorado. It has four stories, and belonged to my grandmother, but he inhabited it while she was studying abroad. However, this story isn't about him, or that house, though I feel as if the house played a major role in the spiritual events in my life.
My first personal experience with this entity happened in late January of 2009. I was four months pregnant with my first son. I was going through a mild depression at the time, something I'd struggled with on and off since 2003. I had recently moved into my grandfather's farm house, and was keeping myself isolated in my bedroom. I had been heavily involved in church until 2008, when I lived in an apartment that was in a building which used to be a hospital- my apartment was situated above the morgue. A few things had happened, and I couldn't understand why God would let them, and somehow in the midst of all that, a golden chain with a delicate cross on it disappeared. A year later, I found myself pregnant, and living with my mother until I had my son. It was unsettling, and often kept me awake at night, trying to find a way to set things right.
The night that I had the first nightmare, I remember being excruciatingly tired. Not that I'd done anything that day, except a doctor's appointment for the baby. I fell into a troubled sleep, ignoring the feeling that I was being watched. There was a spirit and my grandfather's house that I'd been aware of for some time, and I thought it was that spirit. As the night wore on, I couldn't discern between when I was awake, and when I was asleep. There was a rocking chair next to my bed with various things in it that I'd bought to keep myself occupied. When I was asleep, I dreamed that I was in my bed, and it was dark, but subtle things would be different. A lamp would be missing from the dresser, or my closet doors would be open. I'd awaken, to find that they weren't true. Finally, I dreamed that a Raggedy Anne doll I'd had as a child was sitting in the rocking chair, staring at me. Its eyes gleamed with intelligence. Chilled, I settled down into my covers and rolled onto my side. Convincing myself I could force myself out of the dream, I shut my eyes- and I heard the loud report of gunfire outside of my window.
In waking life, the window was textured and frosted glass, so there was little to no visibility if one were to try to look out or into it. In my dream, both panes were simply glass sheets. Pulling myself into a crouching position, I held onto the headboard and peeked outside of the top pane. There was a man, well over six feet tall, with a rifle to his shoulder. He was aiming at something in the distance, though I couldn't see what it was. As another shot was fired, I had the sudden awareness that it had shot my grandpa's Labrador and my mother's Schnauzer. Horrified, I began to crawl away, and was jerked into reality for a moment.
I opened my eyes and looked around the room. The string to the light above my bed was swaying gently, but otherwise, the house was unnaturally still. Telling myself it was just a dream, I closed my eyes, and fell back into the dream. My first thought was to get to my mother, who was asleep in the next room. I knew I had to. It felt as though my survival depended upon it. As I was crawling backwards, hunkered down to the bed, the man turned, and it was then that I saw his eyes. They aren't black, in the sense of being bruised. Nor are they hollow, or blank. The darkness is thick. Almost a mist, though it doesn't come out of the sockets. As he looked at me, I felt primal terror for the first time in my life. I felt hatred washing over me, not directed at me, but a true loathing of anything bright, and good, and alive. I knew then that I couldn't sleep in my room. But I was frozen, with one leg off of the bed, my eyes locked with those of this being. He raised the rifle towards me and said, "Crawl in bed with your mommy, b****." I heard the report of the rifle, and woke up. The whole room was heavy with this thing's presence, even after I yanked the light on.
Having been exposed to the paranormal my whole life, it is difficult to frighten me. But this night, I brought my knees to my chest (I wasn't showing yet), and cried. I cried for hours, and eventually got the nerve to get out of bed and fetch my bible from my closet. I opened it to Psalms, and read the Lord's Prayer many times--I don't think I've ever prayed so long or so sincerely in my life.
A few weeks went by with little incident, until I'd moved into my own house, because the farmhouse was old and too dirty for a new baby. I was laying in bed one night, awake, listening to the house. Suddenly, the music I was listening to began to gargle, and there was a lot of static, even though the file was saved, and I was using my laptop to listen to it. At this point in time, I was leaving the living room light on in the house, because I felt too uncomfortable to turn it off. My bedroom door was locked, and a shifting of the handle caught my attention. I looked to the door, and there were two dark shadows, like somebody standing with their feet shoulder length apart, but I knew nobody else was in the house. I would have heard them enter, as it was a very small residence, and the walls were incredibly thin. Squeezing my eyes shut, I pretended to be asleep, as I felt that same malicious energy assault my senses. Presently, I felt four cold fingers drag down the side of my face. As that happened, there were bursts of cold air on my ears as the thing spoke, though it was in a whisper, and I didn't understand what it said. I felt violated, but that was the last time it visited me until I had my son.
It returned physically during my second pregnancy, and has done so again during my third. I will post those experiences as well, as I have recently tried to push this thing out of my life by returning to church, but it seems only to get worse as the days drag on. Anybody who can help, or who has experienced similar things, I would love to hear from you. And, if by posting my stories, I can help somebody who is currently going through similar issues feel less isolated, then maybe that's all I can do.
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