The hinges creaked as I slowly opened the door and peaked into the darkness. Though the room was closed off, a small breeze blew across my face. The first thing I noticed was the smell. I suppress my gag reflex and shine the flashlight into the room. It's completely empty. I keep calling it a room, but in reality, it's a small walk in closet. I've lived here for a couple months and have yet to move anything into this small area. It's the stain and the scratches that hold me back. And the smell. On the floor at the foot of the door, there is a dark brown stain. I've tried to clean it up...I've even painted over it. Twice. Yet it keeps coming back. And the scratches. The back side of the door looks like an animal has attacked it. Long scratch marks all up and down the wood. Every time I open this door, small pieces of door lay on the floor. Fresh wood. I was only in the house for a week before I heard the scratching for the first time. Midnight. I awake and I notice the air is cool. Considering it's mid July and the highs have been breaking 97 degrees, I find this to be an unsettling feeling. I walk across the hallway and enter the spare room...and I can hear the scratching. It take me only a second to realize it's coming from the closet. I turn on the overhead light and walk towards the door. I consider myself a level headed individual not easily spooked by the things that go bump in the night, but the hairs on my arms and neck were standing on end. I reach for the door knob and silence. The door won't open. Something on the other side is holding it closed. Having yet to open this door, I wasn't aware of the secrets that it held. It wasn't until the next morning that I was able to get the door open and saw the stain and wood chips and smelled the smell. It didn't take me very long after that to install a deadbolt on the outside of the door which I've locked every night since.

What does one do when confronted with a situation like this? I went to the local library and did some research to see if the house had been involved in anything weird in it's history. You watch enough horror movies and your mind wanders to all the possibilities. Maybe someone was killed in the closet, maybe it's buried on sacred Indian land, or maybe the developers built the house on a cemetery and didn't move the bodies. My mind's been racing trying to find the answer. The other possibility is that I've snapped and am now creating a reality that adds significance to my rather mundane life. It's this reason that I have yet to invite anyone else into this mystery. I continue to go to work and hang out with my friends, but come night time, I engage multiple deadbolts throughout my house effectively cutting off that one room. I've got a box full of garlic, one full of silver (even though I don't have any idea on how to melt it into bullets), I've got crosses and holy water and anything else that I've ever seen about evil spirits. I even went as far as sprinkling salt around my bed...but after a couple days that was a bit messy so I swept it up.

I was fifteen the first time I saw God.  It wasn't as glorious as the stories make it sound.  There was no white light or tunnel, no loved ones waiting for me, no feeling of pure love; just dark silence.  I didn't know what was happening.  The last thing I remembered before the darkness was the bus.  The little girl had fallen.  The bus driver was barreling down the road.  I didn't know what I was doing until I was pushing the girl out of the way...unfortunately there wasn't anyone there to push me out of the way.  I didn't feel anything, just the darkness.  Out of the darkness, he slowly walked towards me.

The screams. My eyes snap open and I sit up. The room spins as all the blood rushes to my head. As my vision clears, my eyes fall on the television. Just the television, the horror movie Uncle put on is still playing. Apparently I have fallen asleep. I scan around the room and realize that I am alone. I’m a little spooked and I call to my uncle. No answer. I stand up and look down the hallway. Every light that is in the small apartment is on. Every door is open. The contents of all the closets are strewn across the floor. I slowly walk down the hallway. At the end of the hallway, I see a face staring back at me. The boy looking back seems frightened. His dark eyes look back…piercing through me. As I step closer, the boy steps closer. I’m more tired than I thought. The eyes staring back are my own. The antique wooden mirror has hung in that hallway for years.
I step into my uncle’s bedroom. As with the other rooms, all the lights are on. All the drawers are open and the closet is open. I slowly lower myself to the floor to get a better look under the bed. Nothing. There is nowhere else in the room that anyone could hide, so I move on to my room. I continue to call out for my uncle, but I get no response. I’m alone. In the other room, I can still hear screams coming from the television. I head back to the living room to silence the screams; they are putting me more and more on edge.
Silence. With the television off, I can hear all the sounds of the night. Blocks away, a dog barks. Car horns. Stray cats. People arguing in Spanish. The sounds of New York city at night are almost as scary as the screams. I start to panic. My uncle has pranked me in the past, but never to this extent and I really start to worry. I slowly walk into the kitchen. My heart falls in my stomach and I feel the sweat form on my brow. Hanging on the wall is the telephone. The cord is on the floor. Someone has unplugged the wall phone. I reach down, and grab the plug with my shaking hands. As I look at the plug, I notice a small piece is broken off. My mind starts racing, jumping to the most bizarre conclusions. Instantly, I think someone has ripped the cord from the phone.
I feel the warm tears start to build up in the corners of my eyes…slowly running down my cheeks. I call out to my uncle again… “Uncle! This isn’t funny anymore! Come out!” I start to sob. My chest starts to heave and I can’t control the tears anymore. I open the door and run down the stairs to the main entrance of the apartment and start ringing the doorbell. I ring the bell until my finger hurts and keep pressing the button. Not knowing what I else to do, I sit at the foot of the stairs and cry. For what seems like hours, I just sit there. Afraid to go back into the apartment alone, yet just as afraid to sit at the bottom of the stairs alone.
As I sit there sobbing, I car pulls up to the parking area. It’s a Honda. It’s my uncle. When I see him, I go running to him and wrap my arms around his waste. His shirt becomes wet with my tears. He picks me up and carries me back into the apartment. I slowly calm down and explain to him what has happened. He starts to chuckle. He tells me, “Adam, I told you I was running out to get some cigarettes. I looked through the apartment for some without any luck and decided to run to the quickie mart. I told you just before I left.” I ask him about the phone cord. Apparently, it’s been broken for a few weeks. As my heart finally calms down, I realize what happened. When he told me where he was going, I must have been falling asleep. Our conversation was lost to me as I drifted into a state of slumber.

The blood oozed from the hole in my chest. The puddle beneath me was growing with every beat of my heart. It wasn’t much long after the bullet tore through my chest that my heart ceased to beat. As I lay there, the earth sucked the remaining heat from my lifeless body. What remained there on the ground was nothing but the husk of my former life. By the time the EMTs arrived on the scene, it was too late. I was pronounced dead at approximately 7:28PM on July 8th. There was nobody to call. The tag that was placed on my toe called me John Doe. I carried no identification and had never allowed my fingerprints to be put into any database. I was a ghost. Never owned a house or a car. I was never issued a credit card or took a loan. There was no record that I had ever lived. Only the record that I had died. My death made the paper, if you consider page seven significant. The paper read, “Man shot in parking lot, police looking for any leads. Contact your local police department if you have any information.” Unfortunately for me, there were no witnesses. There will be no calls to the local police departments about my death. I will remain an unsolved case. But justice will be served...when I return. I guess I should have told you in the beginning that I can’t be killed. Sometime after the state buries me, I will awake. The hardest part is digging myself out.

I haven’t always been this way. There was a time in my life when a cut would leave a scar, a time when breaking my neck would have been the end. A time before I took the oath. I didn’t really know what I was getting involved with until it was too late. Had I known that a life of loneliness was to follow, I might have reconsidered the offer. However, at that time, revenge was all I could think about. All that I had loved was ripped from me. I guess you could say, that was the night I first died. It was that night he approached me. I don’t even know how he got into my apartment. He was just there...sitting on my couch. It was here the offer was made, and here that I accepted. I don’t know what I am. Vampire? Nope. Zombie? Nope. Alien? Nope. I’m sure it’s something more mystical. All I know now is that I don’t die. I’m stronger than I should be, faster and more agile. My body repairs itself and with each repair I get stronger. With each death I come back stronger, faster, more powerful.

I didn’t believe him when he told me how I would become. Would you? A man appears in your house and says, join us and you will become invincible and live forever. Sure buddy. Whatever your on, I would love some right now. I should have asked more questions when I saw the syringe...but I let him inject me. I had nothing to lose, nothing to live for. I used to build things, now I destroy. I wouldn’t call myself the bad guy, by no means do I cause harm to those who don’t deserve it...but if you do deserve it, nothing will stop me from getting to you. Then, I promise, it will hurt.