It Was More Fun In Hell

It Was More Fun In Hell

The following is based on events from 1991 to 1998. 

 He had a beard, dark hair, just a thin man smoking a cigarette. 

 "Something's happened there since the 1970s," he told me. "Probably more. I know the place is bad because the bad thing happened to me. It was all in the paper. National news. You changed my name to protect my privacy. Something different happened to me. It's still inside of me, but not all of it. He liked to attack women most of the time. ""Do you want to turn off some ghosts?" He said. "Well, man, the place still stands." You won't tear it off for a while yet. Try it out and see for yourself. "

 From his and other testimonies, the various reports, the newspaper articles, and some things my father told me, I knew that Paul was not lying. Even the clairvoyant who passed the room was too scared for me; I had coffee with her. Her name was Barbara. She said, "He stays with you and takes over whenever he wants. I was once a man, but I've seen so many things and none of them." it was pure. Not unless it's pure evil. Did you find something new on the tombstones? "

 I knew then that it was real. 

 Nobody knew I was doing this by searching the prison cemeteries, checking the eighteen hundred, and looking in the stains on the tombstones for the faces of the convicts. Barbara would never go into this room again, and she assured me. 

 Hall C, Levencourt Psychiatric Hospital. It happened there, but not only on this ward. Other protective devices were also pursued. Infection is a better word. Uncle Paul lit another cigarette and inhaled it so that it hissed as if it hurt. 

 Said, "I knew something was going on that night. I had finished my laps, and at the end of the room, I noticed a nurse walk into a patient's room. An old man named McClary. It seemed like she had he doesn't have time.". "In a matter of moments, a urinal shot out of the room. I went upstairs, and the only person in the room was McClary. He was scared into his bed.

He told me Sissy didn't know. I liked her in a corner stood facing the wall, I reassured him. You see, all the way to the workplace, I feel like someone has been dragging me from behind on my shoulders.

 In my research, I found that a male patient named Winston raped and mutilated a night nurse in 1970 and then committed suicide. Right in the bedroom. He scribbled stuff on one of the walls in the physician's blood, but no one could recall what.

The criminal complaint on my uncle is stamped nineteen ninety-one and says that he went to the office after visiting McClary. One of the other nurses on duty, Joanna, noticed that Uncle Paul was breathing abnormally, that his neck muscles seemed to then fell on her, tried to strangle her, apologizing all the time, she rejected him. She told him that something was behind him. At that moment, the being penetrated him through his chest, making him squirm on the ground and scream in a voice that was not his own. He says he yelled, "Hell was more fun! "The police said that from their point of view, of course, Uncle Paul was a man possessed by a demon.

The intrigue took me straight to Station C. A friend named Simon wanted to join me and didn't believe in anything paranormal. Uncle Paul reluctantly led us to the building but didn't get out of the car. 

There was nothing sinister in the room for me; It smelled of urine, and the dried carcass of an unknown animal lay in the corner of one of the rooms. It was dark enough there, but I suggested we go back inside. That broke Simon's determination. There was no way he was in it. 

We got to the end of the building, a wooden door, and we went into a room; the floors were broken, the windows were covered with plastic sheeting, and the walls were painted with fingers, nothing scary. It simply means a building ready to be demolished. 

Some children were running through the building, and we saw their silhouettes behind the windows. They laughed like they were catching and kissing. 

However, Simon was obviously upset about something. 

"I want to go now," he said softly. "Something spoke to me, at the moment. He told me to set fire to the house. I do not know what that means. 

Back in the car, I asked Uncle Paul, "Have you seen children running around the building? "

He shook his head." No. Are you happy? can we go now? "

I realized that the room we were in wasn't there either on the edge of the building. 

In the car, Simon asked: "Why are you doing this to me? "He was visibly upset and showed us spots on his chest as if a child had dug his nails into his skin. I'm a nail biter, so I know it wasn't me. 

Within a year, Simon locked the family's pets in his home; two dogs, a cat, the birds and his six house rats, then he burned it. With a piece of glass, he had engraved words on his chest and stomach. The words were the same as my uncle had said years ago: Hell was more fun. 

Simon went to a more modern psychiatric clinic for a more extended stay. I visited him once, but he was no longer my friend. His facial expressions were different, even his voice; I don't know who he was. 

And Uncle Paul? The last time I saw him at his trial, he tried to murder three people, two men and a woman, with a carving knife in the middle of the city. His property was mentioned, but that information had nothing to do with the case against him. When found guilty and left, he said in a voice that was not his, "What I did wasn't bad. I am bad."