Murder/Suicide

My computer problems stopped after I posted the last blog entry. In fact, it all stopped. The kids weren't even knocking. As weird as it sounds, at first my room was harder to be in when they weren't there. I'd grown so used to them and the sounds. The silence was deafening, as the saying goes.

This was the rest of Sunday, all of Monday, all of Tuesday, and this morning before school. I have to admit that I had more trouble sleeping with the knocking gone than when it was there. By Tuesday night it was all sort of feeling like a dream, and by Wednesday, I was looking forward to actually being alone in the house after school, which really hadn't happened since before the ghosts had shown up. As soon as I put my key in the lock, though, I knew something strange was up.

I pushed the door open and found myself in a different house. The floorplan was the same, but the furniture, decorations, and even the carpeting were different. It was all old--not old like junky, but old like from a different era.

I stepped inside but didn't feel like I was in the moment. I don't know how to describe it, but it felt like I was watching a 3D movie or something from inside the screen. It was just little things like the shag carpeting didn't feel like it should have under my feet. Actually it felt exactly like the carpet I've been used to walking on for the past three years since it was installed. I guessed that if I walked towards our couch, which was just empty space from what I could tell, I'd actually bump into it.

I heard someone banging around in the kitchen, so I went to investigate. The angry ghost sat at the kitchen table--or rather a kitchen table as I'd never seen that one before--with a can of beer in his hand and probably eight or nine empties strewn about him on both the table and floor. He was scrawling something on a pad of paper, and tears flowed down his cheeks.

The thumps started from upstairs, the ones I knew at once were the kids upstairs. In fact, I had the most peculiar sense that they were doing exactly as I had during that dream when I was throwing blocks against the wall. I turned to the man, terror flowing through my veins, and shouted at him. "No, mister, leave them alone!"

He didn't hear me. I knew he wouldn't, but I had to try anyway. He finished up both his beer and his note (his suicide note--I knew it to be true), stood up, and grabbed a knife off of the counter. I stood in front of him to block his way, but he walked right through me. I contemplated following him, but I already knew the grizzly outcome. Instead I bent down and read the note. Just as I guessed (I knew), it was his "goodbye world" note. Before I could do anything else, the world blurred and I found myself standing in my family's kitchen--the one I knew so well. I'm still not too sure what the hell happened.