| abstract | - I will start by telling you all that has been happening during the past few weeks. I hope this will help someone understand just what is going on here, although it has helped me in no way. If you have any theories as to how this could happen, or even what the hell is going on, please message me. I need to know. Two weeks ago my parents (who are both in their mid 50s) decided to go look around at our old house, the one I grew up in. It has been abandoned ever since we moved out about a year ago, but is in pretty decent condition. The picture shown is a picture taken outside of the house. Anyway, I thought I might as well go along and maybe dig around for some stuff we might have forgotten when we left. The house seemed much smaller than it was when we left, and I got this very ominous feeling from looking at it as we approached. The front door was broken and would not stay open. I left my shoe to keep it open, as I was scared I might get trapped inside (I'm claustrophobic and can't stay in enclosed spaces for a long time). I was going in alone, while my parents were checking the backyard to see if the swing was still intact (it wasn't). It was dark, damp and overall creepy inside the house. There was a strange smell coming from one of the rooms (I think there were some animals living there) so I decided not to go there. I went upstairs, and to my luck, the stairs didn't fall apart like I thought they would. Upstairs was a bit more light, as the windows hadn't been boarded up like downstairs. I walked down the corridor that led to my old room, and saw movement inside. I jumped back, as I wasn't expecting anyone to be there, but calmed myself quickly and proceeded. To my surprise, there was nothing moving in there but a white cloth, swinging in the wind. I laughed a bit for getting scared by something so silly, but thinking back, I swear I saw a person in there. I pulled on the cloth, as it seemed to be covering something. It revealed a large mirror with a frame of stained gold. There was an inscription at the bottom of the mirror, which said something about watching the new generation. I didn't think anything of it at the time so I can't really remember much of it. It was a sentence of about eight words, written in a strange and archaic manner. I looked in the mirror and barely saw anything, as it was stained and cracked. I just stood there for a while, I have not idea what I was doing, but I remember hearing speech coming from behind the mirror. I leaned in to listen to the voice, but jumped back in fear as I heard loud steps from behind me. It was my father, who had come inside the house and had managed to somehow sneak up on me. I was amazed, as he is a big guy and the stairs were rather creaky. He laughed and was obviously glad he had managed to scare me. My mother came in the room as well after a few seconds of laughing had passed, and immediately spotted the mirror. I saw her looking at it with a weird expression, and asked why we had left it behind (it was very expensive looking). My mother said it wasn't ours, and that she had never seen it before. I got to thinking, and to be honest, I had never seen it before either. My dad then yelled us to come over to another room. Again, he had stepped away, making no sound whatsoever. When we got there, his face was glowing. Not literally of course, but almost. He had never looked so happy in his life. In his hand he held some very old pictures, which looked like me in some strange way. There was a picture of a small boy and other pictures of what looked like his father, mother and perhaps an older sister. I had no idea who those people were, but the picture of a small boy seemed to be looking straight at me. "It's me and my family!" My father said in and enthusiastic voice. Now that I took another look, the little boy resembled my father. We left the house, and took the pictures, along with some other stuff that we found in the same room. We put the stuff in a box my dad found the pictures in, and drove off. On the way home, we visited the house of an old friend of my father's. He was and old man, probably almost 90 years old. He had known my dad and my grandfather, and was a dear friend of the family. I didn't really know him, but I know my parents went to visit him on some weekends. My parents talked to him for a while, and told him they were taking the stuff they found. He didn't mind, as it was our belongings anyway, and told us he had been keeping watch over the house (which I thought was a bit weird) in case we ever return. My parents then asked about the mirror in my old room. They apologised about me breaking it in case it was his. I was about to tell everyone it wasn't my doing, but the puzzled look on the old man's face made me freeze. He turned to me and then to my family, and said, "There is no mirror there. I threw it away myself." A long silence followed, and my blood ran cold as I remembered the words I heard from behind the mirror, clearer now than ever. Don't make us go. This is what I had heard, I was sure of it. I was just about to ask the man about it, but my family stood up, and left without saying a word. I watched this play out and followed them, never understanding what had just happened. I never asked about what had happened during that strange meeting, and frankly, I was afraid to ask. The way they left that old man to his confusion was so cold and unlike my parents. I forgot about it in a mere few days, but then something happened. My father didn't come home one night. We thought he might have gone out drinking, which he did occasionally, but heard nothing from him the next day either. My mother was worried sick, and went to look for him in all the usual places where he goes drinking. Nothing. We asked the police to look for my father, and they promised to find him. I was confused and worried. Why would my father leave like this? A few more days passed, and we got a call from the hospital. He had been found. We rushed over there and saw him in a bed, with all these machines hooked onto him. His face was cut in three places and the wounds were clearly infected. I had a hard time recognizing him. We were all relieved he was safe now, and didn't even care what had happened. The police officer who had found him like this asked us some questions, and said it had been an animal that attacked him. I don't believe it was an animal, but back then I did. We went home, my father stayed at the hospital, and all was fairly well. I slept well that night, as I had not slept in two days since his disappearance. I fell asleep very quickly, and didn't wake up until it was already midday. I woke up feeling rested, and got up. As soon as I did, I heard my mother scream in terror. I dressed up as fast as I could and ran downstairs. She was sitting in a corner, her eyes covered and shaking uncontrollably. When I asked what had happened, she screamed again, this time at me. Is this your idea of a joke! What the fuck is wrong with you!? I was apalled as I had no idea what was going on, and she never, ever swears at me or father. After a moment of confusion, I saw her pointing at a picture on the table. I went to take a look, and my heart dropped. What I saw caused terror beyond belief. It was the picture of my father as a child, with three cuts on his face, and his eyes black. (Sorry for poor quality in the picture, I didn't have my camera for the second one so I took it with my phone.)
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