My earliest memories were not of my parents but of my aunt taking care of me. She raised me as my godmother, with a picture of my mother and father on the wall. They were alive, but I was not allowed to see them, live with them, or ask about why. I came to accept those conditions. They would visit me on my birthday and for Christmas. Then they would be gone before I woke up the next day.
    They sent me to boarding school to not be a bother to my aunt. There I grew up and then came back to live with my aunt for middle school and high school. Then I left and went to college. I married the love of my life, Kristen, and graduated college. We both got jobs and then had twin daughters, Ivy and Rose.
    At my daughters’ age of seven, my parents died, and I inherited their house and property. Kristen always asked about my parents and why they weren't more in my life. I told her not to ask questions. She pressed me about why not after they passed. I told her I did not know, that was just something that stuck from my childhood: do not ask.
    She convinced me to visit my true home, that I have never seen, instead of just selling it. It was the fall, and the leaves had turned with most still on the trees. The forecast was the same for the next two days with light rain and high of mid 50 and low of low 40s.
    It was a lovely drive through the rolling hills in the southern states on a lonely state highway. I was a little eager and drove too fast on the curves. Ivy got sick in the car. After pulling over and a change of clothes with some water and crackers, I resumed the drive at a slower pace. We came across a large and old sign that read "Drakeford Estates" that was part of a brickwall. The wall was in disrepair and much of the old brick had collapsed on the ground. Seeing our last name surprised us and we grew excited that we were near. Five miles later, we had yet to arrive at the house. The lawyer representing the estate never gave the specifics of its size. Upon eventually reaching the house, it was enormous. It was in the style of an old plantation with much added on as the generations passed by. The original entrance remained two stories, but behind it rose to four stories. They did a decent job of trying to match it to the original, but one could tell the additions that were made. The road that led to the manor was a dirt road with the remaining gravel spare. Along either side were rows of trees and flat fields beyond that. Most of the manor lay on flat land with hills surrounding it. It was all overgrown and there was an old bushhog sitting nearby, taking shade beneath the trees covered in weeds.
    Kristen was excited, but I was weary of being there and going inside. My daughters did not want out of the car from the weeds being as tall as their shoulders. I unloaded our things while Kristen took each twin up to the front porch. The silence that came across my twin daughters mimicked that of the old homestead.
    Upon opening the doors, it was nicer inside, but still unkempt. It was of all old wood inside. The first room was a foyer with a straight staircase that led to upstairs. The rooms to the left and right were for entertaining guests. As we ventured in, it quickly turned into a maze. My daughters held each other’s hands and observed behind us. I never saw them so timid before in my life.
    Kristen led the way, exploring. She was giving me the impression that the history intrigued her, but also happy about what we just inherited. Along the way, we came across portraits of my ancestors: Tristan, Tristan II, Tristan III, Tristan V, VI, VII, VIII. I presumed I was the IX.
    The decadence of the place overwhelmed Kristen. Multiple indoor pools, a large three story dance hall, and multiple large and lavish bedrooms. After hours of exploring, I stood my ground and told her we could not live there.
    My twin daughters never caught their mother’s excitement about being there, and they silently agreed with me. I reminded my beautiful wife that there was a reason I never stepped foot inside that place. I urged her we should leave. She instead tried to encourage me to stay. The way she kissed me and threw herself at me, in front of our daughters, she wanted me to give her a son to add to my family's long lineage. I forced her off of me. After a brief fight and a quick sup, we all four went to bed. We slept in the same bed because it was large enough and my daughters did not want to sleep without us.
    The next morning, I awoke with something touching my face. I was hot and in between a light and deep sleep. The quilts we used for the cold evening must have been more than we required. My wife and daughters had played the trick of something being on my face often before. My heart smiled at thinking about my daughters’ grinning mischievous little faces. I slowly opened my eyes to not arouse suspicion that I was aware of their games. Instead, I spotted a large bug crawling on my face. I quickly slapped it off. Then I felt something touch my leg. I threw off the covers and jumped out of the bed. Large bugs had made their way on top of and under the covers. The feeling of bugs crawling on me was unsettling, but the heat was unbearable. The room felt thick from the humidity and heat. And the air tasted stale and had a bite to it, like it was toxic and burned a little in the throat.
    I was uncertain why the room was so hot. I thought the best way to remedy the heat was by opening the windows to allow in the cold air from outside. Opening the curtains revealed a bright and sunny day, and I peered out across a field of a hot summer’s morning. The trees were a bright and vibrant green, and the insects screamed loudly and drowned out what few birds there were. I stood there dazed, drowsy, and confused by what I was seeing. I stubbornly opened the windows.
    A strong heat wave fell upon me and accompanying it was a large assault of noise by insects. The insects chirped and rhythmically screamed out at me. Three large hornets slowly flew by my head and into the room. It caused me to run out and close the door behind me, for fear of being stung. I stood in the hallway, waking up to a nightmarish world. The house inside had changed as well. The walls oozed a brownish goo. Bugs crawled along the floor and walls. A big bug flew right into the back of my head, like it was blind. I panicked, afraid it was a hornet. Thankfully, it was not.
    It was just as hot and humid in the hallway as it was in the bedroom. I removed my shirt and socks in an attempt to cool down, which did little. I called out my family’s names, and the harsh air hit the back of my throat that caused me to choke on their names. I had inhaled too deeply. Attempting again, this time in shallow breaths only. No one responded.
    I made my way down the hallway. The tree sap like ooze dripped from the ceiling as well. I did my best to avoid it and the bugs scurrying along the musky rug. I was unsure what a musky rug felt like with my bare feet or even if the rug was actually musky. My feet gave me an impression it was.
    I went outside to the front porch and saw my car sitting there. The insects were almost deafening. As though if it was a small fraction of a decibel more, I would be deaf. Oddly, while I was in the room, I did not feel the need to cover my ears. On the porch I did cover them. The bushhog sat in the same place with the same amount of growth around it and my car was untouched by any weed. If the car was still there, then my family must still be there as well. Suddenly, a hornet stung me in the stomach. I doubled over in pain and it quickly darted back as though it would do it again. I ran inside and closed the door while I held the stung part of my stomach. I uncovered my hand over the sting and my entire stomach was red and swollen. It was almost too painful to touch.
    I was unsure what was happening, but I needed to find my family and leave. I went to the kitchen and saw Kristen had washed the plates we sup'd on last night. There were also additional dishes that they must have used for breakfast. I noticed the sponge was still damp, and was unsure how she could have casually washed dishes in such a horrid place of a house. An urgent need came upon me to search the house to find them. After searching multiple rooms, I opened one set of doors and the sap from the ceiling fell on my shoulder. Disgusted, I attempted to wipe it off, but its sappiness and viscosity were equivalent to honey. I had to use my hand to get off as much as I could and wipe it on a wall. The smell was horrid, almost pus like, and my skin burned as much as the hornet's sting.
    My hand, that came into contact with the ooze, also burned. I needed to find a bathroom to clean up and relieve the burning. I turned around and went back down a hallway where I remembered seeing a bathroom. Upon spotting it, I walked towards it. Suddenly, the door of the bathroom slammed in my face. A wave of hot air blasted me from the slamming door. It startled me. I reached for the doorknob to open it. It would not open, possibly jammed. I called out my daughters’ names, thinking they had been hiding behind the door and they slammed it.
    "Open the door Rose! Ivy, open the door!" I heard no response behind the closed door. I pounded and pushed at the door to get it to open. After several attempts, I could open it. I walked in and looked behind the door.
    "Rose! Ivy!" I called out to my daughters. The only place to hide in the small half bath was behind the door and no one was there. My burning hand reminded me why I was in the bathroom. I turned on the faucet of the sink and a yellowish water came out. I was unsure it was water because it had an unpleasant odor to it. I was unsure what it was, but I would not touch it. I left the bathroom to continue my search for my family.
    Back in the hallway, I heard a door slam. I walked towards the sound and called their names. I was unsure which door slammed, so I opened each one that was closed.
    "Kristen!" After a dozen rooms, I heard and saw nothing. I walked into a large room that connected to another part of the house. The large room had fancy double doors that were wide open. Half way through the room, the doors slammed behind me. I turned around in fear this time. No one was there.
    These double doors had no reason to slam shut. The room was large enough that they were flush against the walls of the room. I turned back around and walked forward to leave the large room. Suddenly, the double doors in front of me slammed shut. I jumped in fright at that happening. My heart started pacing. I slowly walked towards them to open them. I reached out and turned the doorknob. It opened. I turned back around to look at the previous doors I had entered through. They were wide open.
    I left that room and walked through the hallway. I called out to my family. Fear had gotten to me, as well as fear and panic for my family.
    "KRISTEN!" I screamed and choked on the rancid and harsh air. This was no longer we got separated in this large house. They were gone.
    At that thought, I broke into a run of deep panic trying to find my family. Before I did my best to not step on the bugs, but now I did in my rush. I quickly fatigued since I screamed and ran at the same time. The air, also, was hard to breathe. As though little oxygen was in it. Not only could I not find my family, I was limited to finding them as well. My heart broke and pain slashed through me at the realization of my family being gone.
    Hours passed with no sign of them. Tears mixed with sweat and dripped off my chin. I lethargically carried on. The heat and my tears sapped my strength. And I had yet to eat or drink anything. I came upon a hidden door that peaked out from a curtain along a wall. I opened the door and saw a staircase. A light switch on the left displayed stairs that went down and then a sharp ninety degree left. This was the first staircase I came upon leading downstairs. The rest of the house was above ground. This stairway was not lavish and the door itself sat hidden and tucked away in a room that most would not venture to.
    The steps were of stone and walls were of brick, and cooler air invited me down. The air tasted damp, but more breathable than the rest of the house. The stone stairs felt cool upon my feet and my sweat covered body was relieved by the coolness. I even shivered. The hornet's sting on my stomach and the constant burning sap on my shoulder and hand also appreciated the cooler air.
    After the turn, the brick wall ended, and further down it became dirt walls. The electric lights ended, but the walls did not. The stairs stopped along a dirt hallway with nothing but darkness on either end. I would not have pressed onward except there was a sound which I took for a voice. My ancestors had a table with an old oil metal lantern sitting on it. It sat covered in old spiderwebs and dust. The dirt floor had a course sediment layer upon it that was rough on my shoe accustomed feet. A matchbox sat beside the lantern, thankfully the lantern still had oil in it.
    "KRISTEN! ROSE! IVY!" I heard a noise in response, which sounded like a muffled voice. I did not know which way to go, so I decided to turn right. I lit the lantern and made my way. The tunnel was straight and what little I saw it looked as though it might never end. Suddenly, a powerful gust of wind came down the dirt walled tunnel. It blew out my lantern. The wind was so cold it caused me to shiver and cross my arms in front of my bare chest in an attempt to gather warmth. I was not afraid of the dark since I was a child, but I grew afraid then. The matchbox was back on the table, and the logical thing to do was simply return and relit the lantern. The sudden reality of being alone in a dark tunnel underground made me feel incredibly vulnerable and fragile. A thought of the tunnel crashing down on my head came to me. Thoughts of my family left me and my lone survival became my primary concern. I turned around to walk back and saw I traveled farther than I thought. The entrance was still lit but was only a tiny dot, like a star shining millions of light years away.
    The rough ground on my feet had not improved. The chill from the air still stuck with me, but in order to see, I had to extend my other arm out to guide my way along the straight wall. Fear crept into my mind that something was behind me. I heard a sound that I thought was a muffled voice that I heard earlier. This time, it sounded like a man’s deep voice. I kept my pace the same, realizing it was only fear, an emotion. That nothing else could be down there. Then something whisper right into my ear, and I bolted into a run. It was an unknown language and clearly a man's voice. His closeness to me set me in a panic. He killed my family and now it wanted me.
    The roughness of the sediment made me wince here and there, but I did not alter my quick stride. I kept running towards the light and hoped it would be my safety. Then a loud bang exploded behind me. My heart leaped into my throat. I was unsure what it was, an explosion or the tunnel collapsing. I did not stop to look at or understand the sound and kept running.
    My feet were incredibly sore once I reached the doorway. I sat down on the stone steps, unsure if something was going to come out to get me from the darkness or not. I was out of breath and could not believe I ran as far as I did.
    Nothing came out to grab me and I heard no more noises. I relit the lantern after catching my breath and went the other direction. This time I took the matchbox with me.
    The other tunnel went straight for a short distance, but then curled around and down. I resumed calling their names. I came upon a dug out room with two small cages within them. One held the remains of a skeleton. I stood there looking at it, horrified. I was more horrified that I stumbled upon this at my ancestor's home. What did they do here?
    A screaming wail prefaced by a dreadful frigid blast of air hit me again. The wind was so strong that I lost my footing and did a barrel roll down the inclined dirt tunnel. The lantern blew out as I tumbled inside the darkness. I landed on a hard stone surface and I initially realized a soft red glow. This glow came from nothing and was everywhere. I thought I was in hell. It was comfortably warm in there and it was not damp, like the tunnel. The walls were of dirt and I looked back and I saw the dirt tunnel I rolled down. I stood upon a large stone slab which extended the entire room. Upon the stone slab was an odd shape with lines and weird lettering upon it. The main shape was not an ellipse or an oval. It was circular, with a slight oddness to it that made it not perfect. The lines and wording across the stone ground, which looked hand carved, made the shape intentional. There in the middle of a room was a metal rack with cuffs on them. The rack could easily hold a person. The room was empty except for a table with old books and papers on them. Everything was old enough that it was brittle to the touch, except for one book. This book stood out among the others. Its construction was different. I opened it and flipped through it.
    It was a journal of my ancestors. Tristan II began it and Tristan III and Tristan V continued with it. There were historical entries of the family, personal notes, thoughts, and instructions. The book detailed such horrors that took place here. Sexual demonic rituals with men and women whom they tortured and raped. I was horrified, intrigued, and disgusted. A small part of me was aroused by its perversion but also turned me off at knowing my ancestors did these sexual acts. I knew then the purpose of the rack.
Even though I held proof of my family's dark torturous deeds against slaves, I was oddly comfortable standing there. I realized the sting of the hornet and the sap did not bother me. My feet, which were sore, felt fine.
    I sat down and quickly glanced through the beginning tales from Tristan II. He spoke of how the mansion was built upon an ancient burial ground. The indigenous tribes that used to live in these parts told how it was from an older tribe that died out. The tribes knew better than to walk upon it or to cross it. Tristan senior ignored their talks and built the house here. Tristan II gave multiple accounts of how the land was cursed since they built it on the burial ground.
    Tristan III made entries of how horrid Tristan II was with the slaves. An old African priest escaped from a neighboring plantation and made his way here personally to curse the family. Tristan II cut his head off using an axe. He thought nothing of it, but Tristan III stands by what the priest said and how many children and wives he lost.
    Tristan III was the one who had slaves hand-dig the tunnels, and he began the sexual rituals for demonic protection against the curses. This room was the only safe part of the house. He worked on increasing its protection to cover the entire house, but he was unsure if he was successful.
    My land is cursed. My family is cursed. I now realized why I lived with my aunt and never came here. Now my wife and children are gone. I will be the last of the lines. Another item on the table was an old windup record player, and the record on it was a Beatles record. Tristan V was not the last member down here. Others perhaps took place in these horrid rituals.
    Then I heard a voice. It came from the tunnel. I grabbed the lantern and relit it. I walked up the tunnel. The noise came from the cages. I cast the light into them to see, to my horror, people locked in those cages, where they were previously empty and held only a skeleton. They were black people; I presumed slaves. Two women were in one. They had bruises on their faces and they looked to be despondent and dehydrated. The other cage held a black man, and he spoke to me in an unknown language. There were empty cups and plates before the cages, and inside was a bucket for piss and shit. He motioned his hand to his mouth. I took it as a sign of hunger.
    "Please," he told me. Then once again, that screaming wind came down upon me and it pushed me against the dirt wall. The wall, thankfully, prevented me from rolling down the tunnel, but it still forced me downwards until I was in the ritual room again. The wind only stopped after setting foot on the stone floor.
    I had to get out of there. I grabbed the family journal, lantern, and matchbox. I relit the lantern for a third time and walked up the sloped tunnel. This time the cages were empty of people and where the women had sat only a moment ago, a skeleton was in her place. The woman I previously saw was perhaps the skeleton I saw now.
    I made my way upstairs and left the lantern and matchbox down on the table. It was once again hot, sticky, and humid. The bugs were screaming by each window I passed. In the bedroom, I saw my family’s possessions and my heart sank. I missed my wife and little girls. I stood there staring at our things, only wanting them to return to me, when the hornets stung me multiple times on my bareback. It took me down with such pain that I was on the floor.
    I looked around to see where they were, and I saw them walking on the ceiling and ignoring me. I quickly saw my car keys and bolted out of there. I went to the front door and quickly opened them. A swarm of hornets, about ten of them, separated me from my car. I ran as quick as I could to my car parked there. One got me in the arm and another in the back of my leg, above my knee. I pushed through the pain, sharper than a needle, and focused on getting into the car.
    I got inside, hopefully with none entering the car. Thankfully, the car started. I placed the book in the seat beside me and took off. The car rattled along the gravel dirt road, but I did not slow. The powerful stings of the hornet on my back prevented me from pressing my back against the seat of my car. Sweat dripped down my face and I wiped it out of my eyes. I blasted the AC on high but was only blowing out hot air. The bugs screeched and were so loud I could not hear the roar of my car's engine and the bouncing of the car on the gravel road. Once the car pulled out onto the main road, it suddenly got cold. I slammed on my brakes. It was quiet. Leaves fell among a soft rain from a grey, cloudy sky. It was the season of fall. The smell of rain mixed with wet leaves blew through the vents. The cold air from the car’s vents was refreshing against my sweaty, hot skin.
    The hornets’ attacks still hurt, and I saw one dead on my dashboard. My hand and shoulder still reeked of pus and burned. Cautiously, I turned the car back around onto the gravel driveway towards the house. It remained fall and quiet as I drove towards the house. My ears ranged loud from how quiet it became. I parked my car at the front of the house. I slowly got out of the car. The swarm of hornets was gone.
    Inside, there was no sap oozing down the wall or off the ceilings. I went to the bedroom where I slept and last saw my three precious girls of my life. It was how I left it moments ago, where the hornets had stung me. I got further dressed and grabbed all of my and my family’s belongings.
    When I returned to the car, it felt as empty as I was. Empty, yet filled with moments. Inside were Ivy’s spoiled clothes, which I placed in a plastic bag from when she was sick on the ride up. A wrapper with dried up gum Kristen spat out after we arrived left in the passenger’s cupholder. The coloring book Rose loved to doodle in sat in the floorboard of where she sat. I stood there staring at it, longing for my family.
  I left sadden and a destroyed man.

    I write these stories as a means of escape and release of pain. I dedicate all my stories to my wonderful wife Kristen, and my two angels, Rose and Ivy. Rose and Ivy would have been thirteen this year.