disinclination to move, lack of effort and motion, lifelessness.
I have used the knowledge of demonology and superstitions to create this story; reading accounts of actual hauntings, watching various films, and through my own odd experiences.
Chapter 1: Prologue: Inceptum I
Since childhood, I always believed that there were supernatural forces at work around us. Some were misfortunate enough to encounter such things and these entities possessed the power to cause serious harm to a human's mental and physical health; if one pestered or ridiculed these beings, the interaction could result in death.
I had never truly made direct contact with these phenomenal forces, however it is said that children have the ability to sense these creatures in the atmosphere. I recall only very brief sightings of an abnormally shaped shadow when I was very young. It was a figure of a man but obviously not of the human kind, as he bore no visual appearance.
This obscured figure would occasionally walk past the window of my moonlit bedroom; his unearthly shadow would vividly project itself against the opposite wall by my bureau. Being the frightened young girl I was, I didn't dare to find out whether or not this masculine figure was outside my room, or in it. Eventually, I would fall asleep from exhaustion of watching this paranormal entity's slow, endless pacing. It hadn't harmed me, or made it seem that it had ill intentions, but one must assume these things when encountering someone or something unknown.
I never bothered to tell my parents of this dark figure because I sincerely doubted that they would believe me. My mother, a very practical woman, would cast it off as childish nonsense, and my father, a demanding sergeant of the police force, would scold me for thinking of things that would prevent any peaceful sleep that I needed at a growing age.
From the age of six until eleven, this mysterious spirit followed me on and off; visiting for weeks, or months at a time. Day or night, or even both.
As I grew older, I began to notice little oddities that occurred around my childhood home such as misplaced items, moving objects and loud movements during the night. These movements especially would stir me awake at the loud thumping. I would hear these noises downstairs, which was usually what would cause me to awaken, and almost immediately after, the movements would stop. However, in some cases after the halt of the noises, they would begin again and the rupturing movements that occasionally came from downstairs seemed to become even more audible, as if there were footsteps thundering up the staircase, coming right to my bedroom door. Once the footsteps had stopped, a light creak from my door was heard as it would open just slightly. I assumed it was the entity that was by my door as the human-esque shadow on the door stayed there for hours on end before moving along to another area of our home. These nights were the worst; there was simply no explanation for these late night activities.
While preparing to move to a much larger, grand scale house, my parents had recovered the many dolls, stuffed animals and photographs of mine that had gone missing over the years. These items were gathered in a dark area of our basement, hidden away from any sight. The toys appeared to have been used over the years after I had misplaced them; there were signs of dirt and dust present on them. The eyes of a stuffed bear were viciously torn out and a redheaded doll had various limbs missing.
My photographs, however, were a much different story. They were buried beneath the toys, 13 photos to be exact. Pictures of my new-born life, my childhood and of my tween years.
Birthdays, holidays, celebrations, first days of school. These photos were meant to be cherished, yet here they were, tucked away in a dirty corner of the basement.
Now in my eighteenth year, I am reading back on some of my childhood diary entries and recalling these happenings. I knew my parents wouldn't believe me, and my close friends would think I was insane, but I knew long ago that I had to tell someone or in this case, something.
It was Christmas eve, and I was doing a bit of cleaning around my bedroom of the home that we had moved into when I was eleven. We had now been living in it for close to six years, and I hadn't truly done a thorough cleaning since then.
While digging through my closet, I came across my diary from long ago with entries of my childhood scribblings written at the age of six.
This entity would follow me at school at the age of eight.
I would hear it breathe nearby as I completed my worksheets. Once recess would come around, I would chose to play alone on some occasions and I would walk backwards around the school playground and watch in fascination as a trail of heavy feet slowly trail after me, leaving deep imprints in the tall grass.
When I moved, it moved. When I stopped, it stopped. When I spoke, it listened. When I slept, it watched.
I dropped the blue notebook as if it had burnt my hand, overwhelmed at the rush of memories I had long forgotten. Terrified, I scanned around the room before glancing down at the book and shoving it away from me.
"Kathryn!" My mother called from the kitchen, "Dinner's ready, honey!"
Swallowing the saliva that had built in my mouth, I replied shakily, "C-Coming!"
Leaving the book where it was, I glanced around the room once more before rushing downstairs to meet my family.