The interviewer's expression shifted from confusion to intrigue as she probed further into the haunting.
"That's a great name..." she murmured, her voice trailing off as she processed the information. Suddenly, her eyes widened with realization, and she leaned forward eagerly, her curiosity piqued.
"Why is he haunting you?" she pressed, her tone tinged with a morbid fascination.
"The house I live in—" I began, my voice tinged with a mix of apprehension and frustration. But before I could continue, she interrupted once again, her incessant interruptions grating on my nerves like nails on a chalkboard.
"The house you live in?" she echoed, her voice laced with anticipation.
"Yes," I replied tersely, suppressing the urge to roll my eyes. "He used to live there too and was murdered in the basement of that house."
"Oh my," the interviewer gasped, her eyes wide with shock. "It must have been hard finding out."
"Not that hard, considering the fact that I just randomly... fell down the wall into a secret basement covered in blood and corpses," I said bluntly, my tone devoid of emotion. "There was a table with a cutting board on it, with rotten meat that I suspect belonged to humans. Nails beside the cutting board suggested a grisly purpose."
"Did you faint or something?" the interviewer asked, her voice trembling with excitement.
"No, not really," I replied, my voice laced with bitterness. "I'm used to seeing blood and bleeding—"
"BLEEDING?!" she exclaimed, her eyes widening in horror.
"Yes," I continued, my gaze hardening. "My dad left me when I was born, which made my mom turn to alcoholic. She would hit me, torture me, cuss at me... There were times when she actually threw me across the room. I developed PTSD from that. And not just PTSD, I was mentally unstable. I spent a year in a mental hospital, a leap year to be precise. Exactly 366 days."
A heaviness settled over the room as the interviewer struggled to process my words.
"That incident made me suicidal," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. "So, to find some peace and escape from all the drama in my life, I moved to this house. But then I started to have dreams about what happened to Alzuras, and I realized that my life was nothing compared to his suffering."
"Holy shit, are you okay?" the interviewer asked, her concern genuine.
"I guess," I replied with a shrug, my gaze distant. "How did you know that the house was haunted?" she asked, quickly changing the subject.
"Even though it started late, there were paranormal activities," I explained, my voice tinged with resignation. "Like levitating knives—"
"WHAT?!" she exclaimed, interrupting me once again.
"Yeah," I said, my frustration growing. "One day, when I entered the kitchen to cook breakfast, I found a group of levitating knives—"
"DAMN, are you okay? Were you hurt?" she interjected, her concern bordering on hysteria.
"Almost all of them missed, only a few knives hit me," I replied, my patience wearing thin. "It's almost as if he didn't want to hurt me."
"Oh my holy god of heavens," the interviewer muttered, her eyes wide with disbelief. "There's no need to freak out," I said tersely, my annoyance palpable. "Not yet, anyway."
"So, ever since then, there were no paranormal activities?" she asked, her voice trembling with anticipation.
"Not any with knives," I replied dryly, my gaze hardening. "But there were more paranormal activities, like a sofa floating one inch above your face, ready to fall on you when you wake up from weird dreams. All this paranormal activity started turning dangerous."
The interviewer's expression darkened as she realized the gravity of the situation.
"Oh... what happened?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
"About 2 days after the sofa incident, just like any normal day in my life, I went to college," I began, my voice tinged with dread. "But when I came back, I realized I had stepped into my worst nightmare. From the door to the hall, there was a blood path, wide enough to suggest the person died soon after the wound was made. When I finally saw the person, I didn't know whether to feel happy or sad to know that... my mother was dead."
YOU ARE READING
Alzuras
ParanormalA young girl named Petra moved to a house and her life is changed ever since. She makes a new friend though it was a rough meeting, they become close. Petra is then called for an interview about this very friend, she returns home and since she had n...
