This is a difficult story to share as it involves my Uncle’s evil legacy, which was brought to a head many years ago.
Updated 2/9/2020 – I never met him but when I was a teenager, my mother told me that he’d committed suicide and that was that.
My father, who was his brother, died from cancer when I was only three and there were no other living relatives.
Dad was the only one in my Uncle’s Will, which left his house of horrors that was then passed over to my mother.
Uncle Arthur’s “house of horrors” was called as such, due to the horrifying murders he conducted before his death.
He knew that the police were closing in, when many young women went missing over a period of fifteen years.
After his death, the subsequent investigations and cleanup,
Mom finally decided what to do with the property.
By the time I was twenty one, there was a total refurbishment and then she rented it out to several people.
When I reached thirty years of age, I took over the dealings and had to answer many complaints about the building.
The renters said they heard screams and saw ghastly apparitions.
I never believed ghost stories and was a little annoyed with having to check the property at all times of the night.
At this stage, Mom was quite ill herself, so I often went to the building alone, armed with a flashlight and my pistol.
One night, at the beginning of Autumn, I received yet another call from a new tenant, who said she heard screams.
Tired of the complaints, I felt that they were just knee-jerk reactions to the rumors and stories about the murders.
I’d refused the suggestion to bring a Priest or a Medium in to perform a “cleansing” so I went in to investigate myself.
This time I decided to spend more time in the building, especially in the basement where no one liked to go.
I told the woman to stay somewhere else for the night so I could check the premises out without any hindrance.
Beginning with the second floor, I methodically swept through each room and did my best to keep my eyes peeled.
I also kept my ears open and did hear many sounds – all of which I assumed could easily be explained using reason.
When I heard the occasional moan, I attributed it to the plumbing and the shifting of the old framework.
At times I felt a blast of cold wind and assumed that I needed to get the drafts and air conditioning checked.
When I went to the first floor, I heard noises which sounded like screams, but I thought they were cats fighting.
As I got to the top of the stairs which led down to the basement, I heard a distinct, guttural growl from below.
I have to admit, it did freak me a little, but I convinced myself that it was probably creaking pipes or even the door.
Switching the lights on, I noticed a strong odor of blood hitting my nostrils, but passed it off as rusty metals.
When I walked down the stairs, I heard shuffling footsteps, which made me wonder if squatters were there.
I called out angrily, “Who’s down there?!” but no one answered, so I kept moving to the bottom of the stairs.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood up when a blood-curdling scream came from the far end of the basement.
I turned my flashlight on, due to the fact that the lights didn’t illuminate the whole area, but couldn’t see anything.
What made my flesh crawl was the growing sound of weeping and pleas for help.
I couldn’t explain them away.
I kept yelling, “Who’s there?” but all I heard was the crying and intermittent shuffling and occasional screams.
Then I sensed a dark presence behind me, growling and chuckling
I spun around and nearly fainted when I saw that the basement was cluttered and filthy, like I was in another house!
The screams were louder now as the lights flickered and the growling presence loomed large in the background.
I walked past a large wall of boxes and crates, to see a scene that might as well have been straight from a horror film.
Three young women were hanging from hooks in the ceiling, secured by their wrists and naked, dripping with blood.
Two of them seemed to be either dead or unconscious, while a younger blonde woman kicked and screamed.
Her blood-soaked gag had dropped to her neck and I saw several deep cuts in her chest and abdomen, still bleeding.
Shaking uncontrollably, I blinked many times, trying to convince myself that I was dreaming, but it was all too real.
Then I saw a scene behind the row of hanging women, where a long, steel table was being prepared by a big man.
I didn’t realize that I was still creeping towards the table as the man fiddled with shackles at each of the corners.
He wore a black raincoat with the hood over his head, muttering and chuckling as he pulled out a hammer.
I suddenly bumped into the table in shock, then screamed as he turned to face me.
It was my Uncle Arthur!
He gave me a vicious smile that soon morphed into a scowl as he cackled loudly like a maniac and pointed to me.
He yelled, “ON THE TABLE NOW – LITTLE PIGGIE!”
I turned to run but smacked into one of the hanging women.
I felt the blood sticking to my face as I continued to scream, while my Uncle’s strong hands grabbed my shoulders.
In a split second, he dragged me back and slammed me onto the table, then quickly shackled my ankles and wrists.
He wrenched the flashlight from my hand and smashed it down on my forehead.
I saw stars for quite a while.
I felt blood trickle into my eye as many screams filled my ears, along with the howling coming from my Uncle.
It was like he thought he was an animal howling at the moon, while he slammed the hammer all along the table.
I felt the table shake as he continued to bring the hammer down – between my legs and the other parts of the table.
I couldn’t believe it when I started to scream and plead, “Uncle Arthur – It’s me – Please don’t hurt me!”
He was muttering again, saying incoherent things as he rummaged through the drawers of his work-bench.
He turned around with a saw in his hand, looking at me in a dazed and furious way.
I thought I was going to die.
There seemed to be a hundred women screaming now as he brought the saw down roughly onto my neck.
I could see his black-rimmed eyes as he leered at me, dribbling through rotten, gnashing teeth – growling like a beast.
When the saw started tearing at my flesh, I screamed for the last time and passed out, with blood and tears mingling.
It seemed like an eon before I woke up, flat on my back on the floor of the basement, which was now back to normal.
I sat up and wondered if it was all a dream, but nothing stopped me from convincing Mom to sell the property!
