I don't know exactly when we went past our breaking point. Was it when this all started or when things got worse? Either way, it's happened. There isn't much else I can describe about what has transpired here after the incident with the priest other than a complete and total loss of sanity.
I think I was the first one to really lose it. Lack of sleep, trying to keep Marcy as comfortable as possible; and trying to keep a straight face myself despite the circumstances were likely the main cause.
But the moment that really made me start to question everything was around lunch time yesterday. I've had to resort to a liquid diet for Marcy because of the way she is fused with the wall. She had only barely open her mouth on the left side and I'm feeding her with a straw.
For the most part when this happens, she is quiet and cooperative because she is hungry. But yesterday something different happened.
"Mommy.... why did they do it?" she whispered as she took another sip of hot broth.
"Do what sweetie?" I asked.
"The walls. They changed the color. Why did they change the color?" Marcy whimpered.
I frowned and ran the back of my palm against her forehead to check her for a fever and I muttered, "Baby... what are you talking about?"
"In... the upstairs bedroom... they covered it up... I don't know why they did it..." she complained.
She seemed tired so I kissed her head and told her I was going to go take a nap. Stan came to be beside her as I gently walked up the stairs, pondering over what she had told me.
Eventually I found myself standing outside of Stan's office. The upstairs 'bedroom' that Marcy had been talking about. As I stared into the room, I thought back to when we first bought this house. The realtor had suggested if we ever wanted to expand our family, that the room could be a great nursery. Why had she said that?
I stepped into the room and stared at the walls the patterns that were decorating them before finally deciding to rip it all off.
As I began to tear it down, I heard sharp sounds from downstairs. Then Stan was running up the stairs like a wild man.
"What the fuck are you doing??" he asked as he burst into the room.
I kept stripping off the wallpaper and ignoring him as he grabbed my hand and forced me to look at him face to face.
"Have you lost your mind? While you're in here dismantling the house our little girl is downstairs crying because she said it feels like you are peeling her skin off! We agreed not to do anything like this!" he muttered.
I pulled away from him and said with a shaky voice. "What else am I supposed to do? I'm trying to figure out what this fucking house wants! It's not like I can talk to the walls!" I sobbed.
Stan relaxed and held me for a moment as I broke down and dropped some of the wallpaper I was holding. "I'm sorry... I over reacted. I'm sure whatever you were doing was intended to help her," he admitted as he squinted his eyes and looked past me on the wall.
He let go of me for a moment and went toward it, gently peeling the wallpaper off to reveal what appeared to be a measuring chart of some kind.
"What is that?" he asked. I examined it as well and realized it had the scribblings of a child's hand on the wall with a name. Jasper Hunt- age 10 it said.
"Did you know that was back there?" Stan asked. I shook my head and replied, "'Marcy was talking about it like she knew... but I don't see how that is possible...."
He examined it closely, and I could see his brain firing to figure out what to do with this new information.
"Unless we really can talk to the walls," he realized.
"You think the house is the one that was speaking to me?" I whispered. It sounded ridiculous to say. But given all that we had experienced we couldn't rule anything out.
"I think it's trying to tell us something..." Stan paused as he moved over to his desk and began to rifle through some old files.
"What are you looking for?" I asked.
He slammed it closed and muttered to himself.
"I thought I kept the info on the real estate agent. Damn it, I can't find it anywhere," Stan admitted.
"It was Samantha something," I chimed in, although my brain was so tired I couldn't imagine where he was going with this.
He paused and kissed my cheek and said, "I'm going to try and google the info and get them on the phone. Maybe find out who the previous owners of this house were."
"Okay... what do you want me to do?" I asked.
He rubbed his chin for a moment and then directed me toward the stairs. "Keep Marcy talking. If the house can tell us anything else it could help us get her out," he demanded.
I nodded, sprinting down the steps to where my little girl was whimpering and pulling her shirt up a tad to scratch at her belly. As I got closer I could tell that she had developed a rash of some kind.
"Hey baby, are you okay?" I said as I sat along side her.
"Mommy... why do you keep hurting me?" She asked as tears streamed down her face. She could barely even get the words out. Just to hear her say that made me feel like I wanted to die. I touched her cheek and smiled gently.
"Oh baby no... we don't want to hurt you. We want to help you. I... I found what was under the walls. It was another little boy used to live here and draw on the walls too," I said.
"Did the wall eat him too?" she asked anxiously. I didn't actually know the answer to that question. And the fact that she asked it made me even more terrified. I bit my lip and came up with a lie, wondering when the house would use our daughter to speak again.
"No baby he's ok... his name was Jasper. I'm sure his family moved before we came here," I said softly.
"Why is it eating me?" Marcy asked, fumbling to find the words as she looked at the wall. "I'm sorry..." she said with trembling lips as she touched the wall with her free hand.
Stan was at the edge of the hall with a grim look on his face that told me he had bad news.
"The realtor that sold us this place doesn't work at the company anymore. And they don't really have any files on hand about the previous owners," he whispered as I joined him.
"What? Nothing? Not even a forward address?" I asked.
"All the agent could tell me for sure is this property had been on the market for 6 years and we got it at a reduced price cause it wasn't selling," Stan admitted.
I covered my mouth, realizing that such a simple thing could have horrific implications now. Had the wall actually consumed poor little Jasper too?
"Has she told you anything yet?" Stan asked.
"Only that she is scared... and that I don't know how the house communicates yet," I paused and sighed deeply, trying not to lose it.
"Are we even listening to ourselves?" I said in exasperation. "Are we really expecting this house to talk to us?"
"We've exhausted traditional means. Medicine isn't working. Machinery won't break down the wall. And we saw that priest disappear before our eyes. We can't deny this is real," he told me.
As though to prove his point he walked over to the wall and began to bark a few commands.
"Listen to me! I know you can hear me cause of what you've done to my daughter! She is innocent do you hear me? I demand you take me instead," Stan ordered.
Of course, there was no response. Instead Marcy only complained that her pain was returning and she felt itchy again. I still didn't know what that meant in connection to the house but Stan was growing frustrated.
"What do you want from us??" he screamed.
"I swear to god. Answer me now before I fucking burn you to the ground!!"
That evoked a response from the wall or rather Marcy as she screamed again and yelled, "It's pulling me!! Mommy!!" I instantly grabbed at her arm."
"No please!! Please!! Please he didn't mean it!!" I begged.
Marcy's right nostril was now within the wall and all of her right eye. Only a sliver of her mouth was out enough for her to cry out to us.
Then it seemed to stop and I shoved Stan back. "Are you crazy?? Do you want to lose her altogether??" I screamed.
He ignored me and went back to his office. I stood there for a moment, comforting Marcy and I even gently touched the wall and muttered an apology.
"Please... just tell us what you want. We'll do it. Anything. Just please let our little girl go," I whispered.
I slumped to the floor and kept staring at the paneling, expecting any sort of response. But neither Marcy nor the wall were showing any signs of talking. Was it angry because of Stan's threat?
I went upstairs to confront him about it.
He was in the office searching for something amid our many boxes that we never got around to sorting and I muttered, "Stan... I know this sounds crazy. But we have to try to appease the house."
"We've tried that. We can't bring back the old residents. So I'm tired of compromising with a fucking demon," he said as he finally found what he was looking for. It was a sledgehammer.
"Stan... what are you doing?" I whispered.
"It thinks I'm bluffing. I'll show it what real pain is," he said.
His face told me he was serious. But I could see pain and anger in his eyes. He wasn't thinking this through. He walked back down stairs to the den.
"We can't!! You said it yourself! It'll hurt her more than help!!" I begged.
"We know that some parts of the house can be hurt. If this... thing wants to survive... it's going to have to start cooperating," he snarled as he turned to the wall and began to smash it apart.
Instantly Marcy began to holler. We could see it was causing her little body to seize up.
"Don't do this!!" I told him.
"I'm not stopping until it lets her go," Stan said firmly. "You hear that?? I'm fucking tearing you down!!" he shouted.
I ran downstairs, desperate to try and hold on to Marcy before the wall started pulling again.
"If you keep this up she'll be gone!" I screamed.
"It's her or the house. If it takes her I won't stop until this whole place is rubble," Stan decided.
I squeezed my daughter's hand, trying to keep her from feeling the pain. But instead of pulling her further into the wall, the house had a different response this time.
I could see it happening even before she started to make a sound. Something was moving under her skin. It was a small gentle ripple against her arm, before I realized that it was an insect. A termite burrowing it's way out of my daughter's arm. Before I knew what was happening, more of the insects began to dig themselves out of her body in different places.
"Stan!!! Stan stop!!" I shouted at the top of my lungs. This time my husband listened. He dropped the sledgehammer and fell to his knees as he saw the termite swarm that was now invading our little girl's body.
"Dear Jesus..." he muttered as he hurried to clean her off and get the insects away. But who knew how many of them were still inside of her?
Another few minutes passed with nothing but Marcy's gentle sobs. Eventually she fell asleep and Stan and I stood there, broken and defeated by the house.
"Why is this happening?" my husband asked as he got down on his knees and started to plead with the house.
"I don't know what you want. I'm sorry... I just want my daughter back. Please... for the love of all that is holy in this world... please give me a sign," he said.
I squeezed his hand and we waited there, trying to see if anything would happen. Instead it was just more silence. Stan stood up, shaking his head in disgust as he prepared to go back upstairs.
"Momma, did you feel that?" Marcy whispered as we stood up. She looked confused, but not frightened.
I looked toward her. "Feel what sweetie?"
"It felt like... something pushing its way out," she said. That was when I noticed it. I approached the wall and reached my hand out to touch the gentle ripples in the pattern.
There were five of them altogether, jutting out from the wall about six feet from where Marcy was stuck.
As I watched in awestruck horror, the wallpaper began to peel away and show what appeared to be five little fingers sticking out.
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