The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

When I was three my parents decided it was time for us to get a family dog. We went for a ride in the family station wagon and drove to a farm in Goshen. I remember being inside a barn looking at a pack of small golden retriever puppies all cuddled up with their mom. My parents selected a cute little boy and we brought him home.



I don't remember who (I guess it was my dad) named our fuzzy puppy "Bandit". We made him an enclosed pen in the basement so he wouldn't mess up the house. He use to run up the stairs, but he couldn't get back down. I loved to go down to the basement to play with the sweet lil' pup.



We had Bandit for about a week. My parents noticed something disturbing about our new pet. Bandit NEVER peed or pooped, not once. One morning my dad said he was taking Bandit to the vet's for a check up.



My dad came home without our puppy. My mom and dad sat me and my siblings down and gave us the harsh news. Bandit had bladder and kidney stones which were incurable. The vet said the only thing to do was to put the 7 week old puppy down. My dad agreed to the vet's recommendations. I was too little to understand, but the tears in my entire family's eyes clued me in to the fact that we just suffered a real tragedy. Bandit was in Heaven and I'd never see him again.



We drove back to the farm. My mom and dad just wanted the money we spent back. The breeders couldn't give it back. They offered us another puppy instead. We really didn't want another puppy from them, but we also didn't want to leave completely empty handed with sorrow in our hearts.



We took the last puppy of the liter home. It was another boy. My dad named him "Vermit". I couldn't pronounce his name. After a day of me talking nonstop about "Vomit" my mom insisted that my dad change the name: Rascal.



Another depressing vet visit revealed that Rascal wasn't in the best health. He had severe arthritis and slip disks along his spine. We didn't have to put him down although we were warned that he would be paralyzed one day.



Rascal was the best dog that anyone could ever have. He was more than just a pet. He was like my brother. He was smart. He use to jump our chain link fence and wander where ever he liked. He was such an intelligent dog. He understood everything we said.



He watched TV with us. He played with us. He chased a bear once. He use to eat my socks. When my parents would fight I would hide underneath the coffee table with him. Rascal jumped of the waterfall near our house with me. He was my very best friend, my partner in crime.



I could write a book about Rascal. He was so amazing. There were good days with him and bad days. When his arthritis was bad we would assume he time was almost at hand. We'd say our good byes and bring him to the vet... and then Rascal would bolt down the road, proving that he had plenty of life left. The vet was wrong. Rascal never ever ended up paralyzed.



When he was 14 his time had come. He was a very old dog by that point. His golden face had faded to white. I'll never forget telling him good bye and how much I loved him. He'll always be the best dog in the world to me.

When I was little, I actually didn't mind going to bed. It was warm, cuddly, and more importantly it gave me time to think. My sister, brother, and I even made up a language to chatter with each other from across the hallway. We never avoided bed time and we didn't get out once tucked in.



... however...

Downstairs, far away from 3 kids trying to sleep, my mom would be watching TV in the living room. She would hear kids running around in the kitchen (which was the next room over). She would get up, threaten spankings and time outs. She'd set her sights on the mischievous kids running amuck, but as she got close, the kids would disappear. This type of thing happened infrequently over the years. She would hint around at the breakfast table about our late night escapades. Only, I know whoever my mom may have seen wasn't me nor my brother or sister.



The doppelgangers of the red house did more damage than that...



One time my mom was in the basement doing some laundry. Our washer and dryer stood on top of wooden pallets just outside the hidden room. My dad was off at work. My brother and sister (both older) were at school. My mom felt small arms hug her from behind. She assumed it was me. Weird for a kid who hated hugs and kisses to randomly hug their mom while she was in the world's creepiest basement. As my mom enjoyed the rare hug, suddenly "I" shoved her into the washing machine. She stumbled over the edge of the wooden pallet and fell. " I" ran off into the hidden room. Furious, my mom dashed up the stairs. She slammed the basement door shut and locked it with the dead bolt. I must have reached the top of the stairs at that point and rattled, kicked, and banged on the door from the other side.



"You can't come out til you apologize." I imagine my mom took a few minutes to compose herself and then she went back to doing house work. She didn't unlock the basement door. She left "me" locked down there.



What really freaked her out was when our neighbor / my best friend's mom called to let my mom know I was at her house. I had been there for several hours before I admitted I had forgotten to tell my mom where I was (very typical me). Even while my mom was on the phone, she could hear me banging at the basement door. I hadn't been home the entire time.



When I was a teenager I asked my mom why she kept holy water on top of the dryer. I was shocked when she told me about her violent encounter with my doppelganger.

I grew up in a massive red house across from the Mill River, right near a water fall. I spent many, many summer days swimming in the river and jumping off the water fall.



The house had 4 floors. The basement was half cement, half dirt. There was a hidden room in the back (directly underneath the mudroom / back porch). My dad used the hidden room as his work shop and a place to hide his nips. The first floor had large open hallway / foyer complete with a grand chandelier. There was also a playroom, kitchen, living room, and a enclosed back porch. The second floor had 4 bedrooms and at the end of a straight hallway - one bathroom. There was also a walk-in attic with two storage rooms and two hidden rooms. My brother, sister, and me use to call them "The Witches Dens". In hind site I think my old house was part of The Underground Rail Road.



I experienced many, many paranormal encounters in that old house. Even as a toddler, I can remember feeling watched. One night when I was about 12 or 13 my older sister and I were planning to sneak out to our backyard and smoke. My mom was sound asleep in her room. I was in the upstairs hallways, at the top of the stairs, waiting for my sister to get out of the bathroom. The hall way was dark. The only light visible came from a small desk light in my sister's room and the minimal amount of light that peeked out from a crack underneath the bathroom door.



I was at the top of the stairs, looking down at the landing when I saw them. They were massive. A pair of bright red eyes stared at me in the darkness. The pupils were black and not shaped like something human. They had notches and spiraling arcs. The intense red eyes were level with my own even though I was about 8 stairs up from the landing. Their gaze bore through me, seeing straight into my soul. Was I hallucinating? Was this a dream? The eyes then blinked slowly and deliberately. I was frozen in place, completely paralyzed. I couldn't even cry out.



The eyes stared at me so intensely. They hated me. I could feel it. I could make out a very dark, huge outline of the rest of the creature that stalked me. I could hear his words in my head. "Kill them all. Kill your family. Kill yourself. Start with her."



The bathroom door swung open. The light from the room splashed through the hallway. The figure misted. I saw a panther like shadow bolt down the stairs.



Those eyes haunted me for years. Every rare now and again I would see them in the dark. Once I saw them in a beautiful stained glass mirror that my mom had made just for me. I broke the mirror and promised myself to never look in the mirror in the dark again.



There were many spirits that haunted the red house: the red eyes, the doppelgangers, the old woman, the angry man. Tales for me to tell another time.