Dear Diary,

Thursday, October 31st, 2002 felt like any other mind-numbing school day, but, let’s be honest, there was one obvious, abnormal feeling about that day: it was Halloween.

For years, I’ve walked past the infamous, spine-chilling house of Greybriar, as my mind fills with the stories of the killings, specifically, the 1893 pitchfork murdering, incessantly stick to my insides, causing my knees to quiver and my throat to feel as though it’s caving in.

The day, the one that replays in my dreams, began to deteriorate around 3:00 p.m. I was casually walking home after an electrifying basketball scrimmage, when I decided to call my mom to tell her I scored six three-pointers, but before I could say hello, a scrappy, flesh-colored Toyota corolla sped past me going over 80 miles per hour, and the basketball that lay in my hand rolled away, and into the menacing yard of Greybriar.

Instantly, my mind replayed Google images of the murderous killings. I decided that my athletic legs could retrieve the ball before anyone noticed my appearance on the property, but I wasn’t quick enough.

A chain rose from the sticks, and my body began scraping the sidewalk as the chain dragged me to the barn of Greybriar, the place where Hiram Greybriar’s ghost still remains.

My eyes couldn’t see straight, but I captured a glimpse of his tattoo, with the phrase, “Allow me to show you the place humans recall as hell.” The light turned to dark, and the smell of grass turned to the smell of rotting carcasses and nauseating blood. I began to hear the sound of screaming babies, and a blazing fire grew around the scrappy, once-red barn. My chest was burning, and without warning, my legs were on fire. I screamed with every ounce of fear in my body, and then I saw his face. I hoarsely hollered, “LET ME GO,” but his reply is what sits in my mind today: “I will never let go of you. You belong to me now, Amy.” And in that moment, he picked up his blood-stained shovel and began to scoop my eyes from their sockets, as he slowly whispered, “don’t worry, Amy, you’ll see me later.”

I now lay in a hospital bed in the psychiatric unit with no legs beneath the sheets, and a cast masking my face. No one believes me when I tell them what I saw that Thursday afternoon. The devil is roaming the earth.