19 June 2006, 15:51 UTC#20
My story's a fucking long one, but I'm bored and you might find it interesting, so here goes.
It all started when my family went on holiday to the Welsh mountains with my cousins. So on the trip there was me, my sister, mum and dad; guy cousin, girl cousin, aunt and uncle. I was six at the time.
The drive took fucking ages, but we finally arrived at the shitty little hut that rented out all these houses in the mountains. It was a shady company, but we booked the trip 'cause it was cheap and it was kind of an adventure. So bear in mind that our house we were staying in was the definition of the middle of nowhere, with the next human beings at least ten miles away.
So we stroll into this hut to pick up the keys to the house and tell the guy the name of the house. It's some Welsh name which I'll never remember. Well the old Welshman turns white as a fucking sheet, repeats the name and says "nobody goes up there anymore". I swear it was like a cheesy episode of Scooby Doo or something.
So naturally my parents ask about his bizarre response, and he says that a hunter lived in the house with his wife and his faithful hunting dog; they used the place as a lodge. One day the hunter and his wife went down to the village, leaving the dog to watch over their infant son. Well, while they were gone, a wolf got into the house and made to kill the baby, but was fought off and ultimately killed by the hunter's dog. On the hunter's return, he found the dog, jaws dripping with blood, with the baby nowhere to be seen. Thinking the hound had devoured his only son, the hunter killed his pet in cold blood, minutes before finding the baby and the corpse of the giant wolf.
So we told the holiday company guys thanks for the cheery story, and finished the drive up to the house. It didn't look too bad on the outside, just like any other shack in the mountains. We unpacked and started looking round the house.
So the first room we went into was the living room. Hanging on the wall was a dark painting of a dog next to an empty food bowl. I can't possibly begin to convey the sense of fear I had just seeing the painting, it's really bizarre, but I just couldn't look at it because it scared me so much. So much so that my parents took the painting down only to find, scratched into the wall behind it: a pentagram. That's right, I shit you not. Needless to say, the painting hastily went back up and I had to learn to not look at it. That was when we went round and found that pentagrams had been etched behind every painting, hanging photo and mirror in the house.
The next room was our bedroom, which had a nice GIANT EYE painted on the cieling right above my bed. So by now we're like what the holy fuck, and on the phone to the creepy guy in the hut to find out what's up with all the voodoo shit. He says that all the symbols are to keep evil spirits away from the house and protect the occupants.
Our first couple of days and nights were actually okay, we made the best out of the situation and enjoyed ourselves. Then things started happening, like doors closing upstairs when we were all in the dining room or living room. This happened twice on seperate days. Both times my dad and uncle investigate and found nothing. There was no draft and no way the doors could have swung shut on their own.
One night (as my mum has often told me) she was awoken by my uncle coming into the bedroom, going round the bed and whispering to my dad. She didn't let them know she was awake, she just lay and listened. Apparently my uncle had seen a man standing outside the house under a tree, just far enough away from the house to be mostly concealed in shadow, but distinguishable as a figure. My dad got out of bed and went to the window and agreed, there was definitely the shape of a man out there. My dad and uncle didn't sleep all night, and stayed in the living room watching TV until sunrise.
Another day we drove down to the village, and returned later on that day to find the front and back doors and most of the windows wide open, when of course we didn't leave the house in such a way. Again we rang the creepy hut guy to ask if someone working for him and come and carelessly left, only for him to tell us that nobody from the holiday company ever visited the houses while people were using them and that, like I said, there was no one else on the mountain for at least ten miles.
It took another two days of weird noises and another sighting of the man under the tree (my dad checked every night, and one night, he was there again) before we packed up and left.
The whole experience was fucking surreal but pretty amazing. I wouldn't believe half the story if I heard it, but I was actually there. It was completely bizarre.
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