I am the great-great-great-great-grandson of a very wealthy man. And I think my house is haunted. We live in a centuries old Victorian style home in a rural community. And this town had a haunted past. Houses all over town claim to be haunted so they call in Exorcists, but my father won’t pay for one. He says I’m just a boy and my little mind is playing tricks on me.

But I know. I’ve seen men, women, dogs, cats, children, and old people walking the halls and rooms of our house. They make noises late at night knock things over and steal money. I can’t stand it anymore.

One day I pick up a propane tank and a lighter. I blow the house up. There’s nothing left but a few foundation stones and a scorched patch of earth. It just so happens my father called the Exorcist when he lost a lot of money. So my father, the Exorcist, my entire family, and my little puppy Rex all blew up with the house. And now I’m alone in the world.

When I find out what I’ve done I jump down the well. And before I die I see a little deformed boy lying at the bottom. I pick him up and let myself drift off. To hell I go and to heaven goes the little bundle in my hands.

Forever more will I haunt that well. Even now, a new house is built but I’m still there, waiting.

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AN: these stories may not be based in fact. The meanings of the monsters may not be right. I really don’t care. It’s my take on the things that may or may not be real. I don’t know and personally…..I hope they aren’t real. I don’t wanna be eaten by no dang werewolf in the middle of the night.