The voices are back. No, not the voices in my head. I'm not crazy. I'm haunted. Or, rather, the house in which I live is haunted. The voices are in the walls. Yes, inside the walls. Not coming from them, but contained within them. It's hard to explain. You'd really need to experience it for yourself to better understand. If you press your ear against the wall and concentrate you can hear them.
The sounds are distinctly human and not the haphazard sounds made by mice, although we have those as well. I'd like to tell you that I can understand what is being said, but the tones are too distant, too indistinct, and yet, unmistakably human. In fact, it's possible to make out gender, and even age. There are a total of four distinct voices: a man, a woman, a young boy, and a young girl. The really frightening thing is knowing to whom these voices belonged: The Dilbert family. Eugene, Florence, Caleb, and Emily. Aged 38, 32, 11, and 8, respectively. They are dead now. Eugene killed them and himself on June 22, 1929.
Since I've lived here, like clockwork, the voices have always come back in June. The frequency and volume building to a crescendo that culminates on the anniversary of that sad and violent family tragedy. Like clockwork. I think it's the children's crying that bothers me the most; the range of emotion that I hear in their voices. They start out as plaintive, and then build to desperate and then... and then... I don't even like to think of how horribly afraid they sound near the end. It literally makes me sick to my stomach. Partially, because I'm afraid, but also because of how evil the whole experience feels. It's no wonder this place is haunted. I'm just glad it's limited to the month of June, because I don't think I could tolerate this if it were all year round.
This place was cheap which is why I rented it and now I know why. I moved here in July and so the yearly cycle had ceased before I moved in. The restless spirits of the Dilberts had calmed back down after their yearly passion play was performed from wherever their tortured souls must dwell.
Oh well, only nine days left. And, it's really not so bad. I usually leave a tv on at night to drown out the sounds. And, when it's really bad the last couple of nights, I'll take 2 Ambien and put some cotton in my ears.
[Of course, this entry is fiction - psych!]