Junior recounts brush with demon who lives in her room

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Junior recounts brush with demon who lives in her room

Charisse Warfield

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Listen, I know what you are about to say, “Oh demons aren’t real, they are just your imagination.”

I’m here to tell you that YOU’RE WRONG.  One lives in my house.

I have living proof of their existence, and that proof resides in my own home. I have learned the hard way that they don’t just lurk in the shadows, they can steal one side of the bed, and you should not leave your friend alone in the house with it. That wasn’t a joke, it’s true. It’s a death wish.

I guess the easiest way to prove it would be to speak about my experiences. Or more accurately, my friends’ experience (which is perhaps the reason why they don’t come over anymore). So sit down folks, and prepare yourself for an honestly pretty mild ride, BUT IT’S ABOUT A DEMON I SWEAR.

One innocent fall October afternoon, I was in a good mood and decided to be social (a poor decision on my part). I  invited two of my close friends over to my house for a sleepover; we were going to watch movies, eat pizza and plot revenge on our enemies (you know, just girly things).

That afternoon, I made the mistake of leaving my friend alone with the demon I  already knew lived in my house. When I returned with Subway subs in hand, I knew it was awake and it was angry. I then looked over to my friend, lounging casually on the couch.

What we did that night was fairly innocent. We didn’t “ask for it” by playing with an Ouija board or watching scary movies. We just watched Vine compilations on my TV.  But then, my TV started glitching. I placed my hand on it and it shut off, shocking me. I then felt something scratch my leg.

My one friend and I stared at each other in horror, while my other, less wise friend laughed as if it were a game. IT WAS NOT A GAME! To make matters worse, the thing would not give us a break. Immediately, in the otherwise vacant home, we heard banging on my door. I scrambled to lock it, barely saving us from a certain gruesome death.

The rest of the night was a blur.  We were all scared half to death (well two-thirds of us were), so we decided to just go to bed. Things seemed okay, up until morning when my friend made the comment: “Wow, Charisse, you went to the bathroom a lot last night.”

I MOST DEFINITELY DID NOT GO TO THE BATHROOM LAST NIGHT.

My friend was just as shook as I was. According to her, I had stepped into my bathroom, with the lights off and hoodie up. I stared at her for a good 30 seconds before nodding once and stepping backward bound into the darkness without turning on the lights.

A part of me wishes I was awake to have seen it, so I could know that she wasn’t messing with me. But I also have heard of Doppelgangers and how seeing your own can cause you to die or become possessed. And I sure wasn’t going to take that chance.

I know this all sounds crazy and you probably won’t believe me. But I know what happened that night.

And thus ends the first installment of my continuing encounters with the paranormal.

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