The foul smell will never go away, my nose was irritated with scented handkerchiefs covering both; since we moved a month ago to this house, my husband and I had experienced a strange sequence of events; for me, the most consistent is this stinking aroma and even more frightening noises coming from the basement.
I've always been afraid extremis, I have never liked me to discover for myself the mysterious sounds that some old houses emit girl hid my humanity under the covers until dawn, that gave me the certainty, at least unnoticed before the supernatural eye or the presence of a professional gossiping.
When I married my husband (Donald McAllister) we moved to a small house on Long Island, the first weeks were a beautiful Barbara Cartland novel. How pleasant it was to sleep at night under the protection of my man, stop fearing the darkness and fears that the imagination creates in the morning, simple and small creaking wooden walls, were no longer a concern for me, Donald felt safe.
My fearful and submissive nature made our relationship a perfect balance, because his temper hardly find in me a conflicting echo, we live in the last five years in that city, until the peace of our area changed police officers had found in the swamps the district, the decomposed body of a high school student, had been strangled and raped on multiple occasions, this event was the beginning of a string of murders without discriminating, fear grew Finco and mistrust among the people of the city we were afraid to leave, there was no possible clues to the murderer.
My horror was perceived by Donald, who proposed as reassuring as City move because he knew too much of my nervous character. Yo, no more doubts disturb your comfort, finished accepting at his insistence, so that in the coming days we moved to Queens.
In Queens, Donald became interested in an old house, made of complex and stained glass gothic type finishes, the funereal atmosphere of the house appealed to him, seemed absorbed by the building, but what caught his attention was the basement; to enter it, he had to leave the rear garden, the threshold of this were a pair of wooden doors giving access some steep steps, same as you moved below the house. I, true to my personality, I explained to my husband my refusal to visit that part of the property, have always associated to the basement dens lived with spirits and demons of old rites. Donald and I understood it defined the cleaning process there, which he would assume.
After a week of clean up our new home, I noticed that we overlook some of the home, as a despicable and stale smell wafted through my most curious at this point in the story nostrils, was that my husband did not perceive such smell, just disgusted me with the stench that dismissed the bowels of the house. The next day, taking advantage Donald was leaving for work, I went back to clean up the laborious task seemed to bear fruit, as the very strong smell of detergent and fruit soaps overshadowed the plague.
However, the stench seemed to leave at all, up my nose and bloodhound trying to find the source of that unfortunate smell, but he did evil, plague flowed from the tiny slits formed in the floorboards, it came from basement.
I was afraid to go down and clean, but took strength to get my cleaning and accomplish the task that my husband had forgotten to insurance; when a sound discouraged me, a cry emerging from the ground, went from less to more, his guttural sound made me chills down my spine; I released detergents and brooms to take refuge in the room, she was not crazy, I was sure of what he had heard. I did not leave my room all day long, patient wait for the arrival of my husband until dusk. Upon arrival, he found me sitting and shivering on the bed, I explained what had happened and decided to check out, I asked him not to go, it was dangerous, but he was determined; always skeptical of supernatural causes, he decided to leave the house and down to the basement.