Chapter 1

Marcus and I drove along the narrow roads. I had my face buried in a bunch of print-outs of old newspaper reports. I was excited to be on this trip. For months I have been trying to get ideas for my new book, but it seemed as if inspiration was in sort supply. My publishers were crawling up my ass, wanting to know when the next Nova Raskin book would be on the shelves. I was tired of dealing with it, that's why I came to this small New England town. There was one house I was interested in, one house that I had heard about on several occassions. Most poeple I had talked to had said that they considered this house to be one of the most haunted houses in America.

What better place for a horror writer to get inspired than by spending a few days in a haunted house.

"I still don't know why you want to go up there," Marcus said to me. Marcus was an old man who worked for the company that owned the house. Recently they had sold the land to the state who was preparing to tear it down. That's why I needed to make this trip right away. "There hasn't been anyone interested in that house in years," he continued, "I don't even like going up there myself. Something evil in there for sure; my hair stands up on end when I walk in there... well, what's left of my hair anyway."

"That's exactly why I'm interested in it," I told him.

"I know, I know. But I don't think a pretty lady like you should be bothering with such nonsense. It ain't good to keep rustling up bad things. We should just let it be."

I guess that was charming, in a pathetic old geezer kind of way. But I was not concerned with his opinion. I looked through my notes some more as we continued driving. Up until the 1940's the house was a brothel, and it seemed quite a popular one. It seemed like people had come here for there ladies from all over the area. Naturally, I suppose, they attracted their fair share of bad company. But it was not the nature of the house, or it's former inhabitants that interested me, but rather who, or what, now haunted it's interior.

My research had led me to one story that I could not deny as being the source of the hauntings. In the summer of 1939, a strange person came into town and frequented the brothel. He went by the name, Jona. Around the time he arrived in town several of the girls working at the house were found dead. They had been raped and slaughtered. A typical Jack-the-ripper style case, except of course for the ending. Jona was the only suspect, but the police had trouble linking any of the murders directly to him. There was; however, not need for any for the people who ran the house. It had ties to the underworld, and to them there was no doubt who had committed the murders. They dragged him out of his bed one night, brought him to a hidden basement room built during prohibition and locked him down there to die. Months later it was out of people minds for the most part.

But it seemed that Jona was not going to be forgotten. Ever since that event, strang things started happening. Objects would move, girls living in the house were attacked by mysterious forces. It had become too much for the house to continue to operate and it was closed down in 1942.

A few years later it was bought and converted into a residence and sold. According to what I could find, it didn't seem that anyone had stayed in the house for more than a month. The first people to own the house completely disappeared. The fortune of all it's future owners were no better. Family members would vanish or go insane. The last people to own the house, found their daughter naked on the dirty basement floor, rambling incoherently and masterbating.

My imagination was already going crazy as we pulled up to the house. As I exited the car I looked up at it. It looked scary, like it had been neglected for years.

"Well, good luck to you," Marcus said as he pulled the last of my things out of the car. "I'll be back tomorrow morning, miss." With that he got back into the car and left.

I grabbed my things and walked into the house. The air inside felt damp and heavy, and I noted it as a horrible cliche I too was guilty of using from time to time.

"Good one," I said to myself, "I guess next it's going to get really cold." I sort of laughed at myself saying it. I was acting as if I was talking to the damn ghost.

I walked around the downstairs. Some old, dusty furniture was still around, but nothing I would really enjoy sitting on. I moved upstairs, bringing my stuff up to one of the bed rooms. I set out my cot, and threw my sleeping bag over it.

I took in my surroundings, like every good writer should, and tried to picture people walking about, going about there day in and out of rooms, unaware of any presence gazing at them. That's what I needed to depict. Lure my reader into the innocence of the people, make them stop thinking about how they know something bad will happen, make them hope no harm will come to them.

I took out my notebook and started to scribble some notes: innocent family -- possessed house. No, no, no! That was horrible! The concept had been done too many times. I wanted my next book to be something great. I didn't want it to be a cheap horror story, I wanted it to mean something. I wanted it to be a metaphor.

There will be no innocent victim. I thought about the house's history. It had been a brothel, a place of debauchery, a place many people would frown upon today. That would be my background, a brothel.

I needed it to focus around the real story of the house, but I needed to make it better. I had always concerned myself with what was going to happen next; as I wrote, I would always think about what would happen next, and try to keep my readers guessing. This time, it would be different. I would not focus on what will happen, but why it happens. I needed to get into the mind of the horror.

Damn. If only the character of my inspiration were still alive. I couldn't do that, I couldn't sit down and get into the mind of the murderer because he was dead. I needed to improvise.

Why would someone kill? All the classes and research I have done for my books I've always heard about the bad childhoods and sexual frustration. I would have to build something on that.

I took a break for a moment and put my notebook and pen down. I went over to the bathroom and was pleased to find that the water was still on. I cleaned up the toilet and relieved myself.

I returned and picked up my notes and I jumped. There was something written in small letters on the bottom of the page, and I was not the one who wrote it. 'You want to know?' it said.

Suddenly I heard a cracking sound, like the roof was buckling. I paused for a moment, looking at the ceiling, wondering if it was going to collapse. I knew it, I knew this place was haunted. I tried not to get too excited.

"Well, I guess you think your something special, huh?" I yelled, "You are not going to scare me, is that what you want to do..." I paused for a second, "... Jona?!"

The buckling sound suddenly stopped, which made me just a little nervous. There was a silence in the house, and a draft ran through it. I jumped as a loud bang resonated through the house shattering the silence.

I couldn't let myself be scared. "What are you trying to prove, you son-of-a-bitch!" I screamed. Maybe they weren't the best choice of words. Suddenly I heard something...

"I don't want to be scared..." The words drifted softly from somewhere in the house, and it sounded like a little girl. "Mommy, where are you?" I heard the voice again, it sounded so sad and desperate. I knew it was against my better judgement, but I left the room and looked up and down the hall. "I want to be brave..." I heard it say again, and I thought that it had come from upstairs in the attic.

I knew it was a stupid idea to go up there, but if I was going to try to understand the presence that possessed this house I needed to jump right into it and confront it.

I climbed the stairs slowly, and made my way into the attic. It was extremely dark, and as I walked in I heard the door slam behind me. Oh shit, I thought. I walked further into the attic, looking desperately for some sort of light switch. I didn't find anything.

"Are you here to help me..." I heard the voice again.

"Who are you?" I asked.

'Haven't you already answered that?' I jumped as a deep voice swept out of the shadows. 'Don't you already know? Or is it just arrogance?'

"Jona?!" I asked.

'I haven't heard that name in a long time, ' he said, 'Many people have come through here, but none of them have called me that, but none of them have called me a son-of-a-bitch, either! Now what are you doing here?'

"I... I'm curious," I said, trying not to sound nervous.

'Yes... I know... I can see it in your head, ' he said, 'your looking for a story. You want to make people terrified, don't you? And you want them to love you for it?!' I could not respond. I was lost in the idea. 'Yes, that's it isn't it? For that, I can almost like you. But there is something else, isn't there? Something even more you want to know? Me, isn't it... that's why you went out and found out about this place, why you walked into this hell with confidence? You want to see through my eyes, and right it down in one of your books.'

"I do not. You're just flattering yourself!" I said, though I knew that he had stumbled onto the truth.

'You are lying to me. I can see into your head, so it is pointless to try to fuck with me, ' his tone grew more stern, 'but since you seem so curious, I will let you know anything you want... but of course, you need to do me a favor.'

I was almost afraid to ask, "What is it? What do I have to do," I asked.

'To start, I want you to touch yourself, I'll tell you anything you want to know, as long as your rubbing that pussy of yours.'

"What?!" I freaked out. There was no way in hell. "Now way!" I yelled.

'If that's what you want, you can just die up here... ' his voice trailed off, back into the silence.

"What the fuck," I mumbled. I felt my way back over to the door and tried to open it. It was shut tight. I banged on the door with my hand. "Let me out!" I yelled, "Let me out now you fucking asshole!!!!"

Just as I said that I felt something hit me hard. I fell to the dirty floor, my head smacked against it. I was pinned down, my body almost being crushed.

'I think you are forgetting your fucking place here, whore... Don't you fucking forget I'm a murderer and I am even stronger in death than I was in life... '

I was pulled roughly across the floor, and I felt my skirt being torn away. "Agh! Stop!," I yelled, "Stop! I'll do anything for you, please!"

'Who the fuck do you think I am? Making offers to me? I don't compromise, and I don't negotiate. I do what I want. Isn't that what you came here for? So now you know. I killed, and I raped because I fucking liked it, and I wanted to do it. Hard to comprehend, isn't it? That the same reason why you write books is the same reason I killed.'

I felt the force press even harder against me, and my panties were torn from me. I couldn't breath. I wished that I had never gone to that house. I was completely helpless, I could not force enough air out of my mouth to even plead for release, and I felt my legs being spread painfully apart.

'Remember it was you who came looking for me! No one made you walk through that door!'

I suddenly felt something warm and slimely rubbing against my pussy. I freaked! I tried to pull myself away, but it was hopeless. I was completely at the mercy of an evil, etherial being. I tried to gasp, and my stomach tensed as I felt an enormous pressure against my cunt as the huge object was trying to drive through my dry opening. The pressure was intense and relentless. I felt my pussy lips stretch and the object jam inside. Tears flowed from my eyes as the pain was so intense.

I tried to scream, but all that escaped my mouth was silence. It kept driving forward, making painful, slow progress up my dry passage. It thrusted and thrusted again, forcing my body to rub painfully against the hard wooden floor. It constantly hammered my sore pussy, tearing the sensitive tissue in my cunt. My head felt light, and I felt like I was going to throw up as it slammed into me so hard.

Still it got deeper, forcing the slimey thing to slam into my cervix with each thrust. It slammed again, pushing me even harder into the floor. I felt like I was going to die, and a part of me wished that I would.

There was no stopping it, my pussy was constantly torn open, forced to accept the huge invader. I was thankful when my pussy start going numb, and the pain of my torn pussy lips ceased. All I could feel was the constant pressure of the end slamming into the deepest parts of my body. The thing swell, forcing my insides to stretch even more, and I felt a hot flood break out deep in my body. I was filled with some kind of hot, disgusting cum. It filled my cunt completely in a second, and dribbled out onto the dirty floor. The added lubrication from it made the thing slam even harder into me, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in, still oozing as it did.

I felt the pressure increase on my back, and I heard his voice again, 'You are not so curious anymore, are you, bitch... and now you know what I am, and why I am... I'm the consiquence, I'm the proof that some doors should not be opened because I can not be tamed... ' The thing in my cunt was forced hard against my cervix as it continued to cum, shooting it straight into my womb and I felt my mind going black.

'But nothing will ever change, no one will learn... they will keep coming like they always have... they need to... the mystery is arousing... and I am proof of that... people will never let the gates of hell be closed... they will always be running to be satisfied more and more to greater extremes, just as I have, and one day they will all be like me: free. When they ask you who did this to you, let them know it was me, the need to be satisfied, the need never to be content, the desire for glory and power. Tell them it was the very thing they all want to be!'

The pressure steadily increased, and the pain grew more intense than I could bear, and slowly darkness covered my face as I passed out.

I slowly woke up from my haze, cold concrete pressing against my skin. My body was in terrible pain and I felt a hand press against my shoulder. I shrieked and pulled myself away. I turned around and saw a man hovering over me. He was a paramedic.

"It's ok. Were bringing you to the hospital. Just try to stay calm." He said.

I looked around. I was outside on the street, and I had no recollection of how I got there. The man pulled me up and lead me to back of the ambulence.

I spent a few days in the hospital, but trying to free my mind from what had just happened would take a lot longer. There was something I could not put my finger on, but I felt so different, but not in a bad way. I didn't want to write my next book anymore, my publishers can just go fuck themselves, those goddamn, stuck-up motherfuckers... Shit, what was I thinking!? I needed to write that book to satisfy the last of my book deal. Fuck It! I thought... I didn't need to do a fucking thing, I'll go down to those people and tell them were to put that contract!

I just tried to relax. I sat in my bed and read the paper until I got to a story that read: "Alledged Haunted House Bought/... James Walsh, a wealthy stockbroker, bought the house from the city just days before it was scheduled to be torn down. "I've always been a sucker for the paranormal," Walsh said yesterday, 'I think it will be interesting to own a house that's supposedly haunted. I bet tons of people would like just to spend a night in one.'"

I stared at the picture of the house, and tears came to my eyes. Still, through the tears now running slowly down my face, there was a part of me that was laughing.

Chapter 2

Something had changed in me. It had been several weeks since my ordeal at the house, and there was something eating at my mind ever since. As if some alien idea had become lodged in my head, but I couldn't quite get it out of my head. I had been doing a lot of research trying to track down anyone who had any contact with the house. It took some time, but I eventually found some names. It was a good thing I had some money saved up because I was going to do a lot of travelling.

I thought that the best place to start was with the last people to own the house. They had lived in the house for only a few days when there daughter went insane. Their daughter was the one I was interested in. Though it had been several years she was still admitted to a hospital in upstate New York. It took some phone calls, but I finally got permission to see her.