I was roused to my senses by the smell of rancid meat, and met with an endless nothingness. The only thing I could use to know I was conscious was the smell, and the strong desire to instill fear unto others.
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I've always thought I was haunted. Ever since I turned six, things began to move around on their own, but this usually only happened when I was alone.
However, when I turned eighteen, whatever it was got violent. It threw things at me, rather than around me, and it began to whisper to me when my loved ones would die. It never told me to end my own life, it just kept forcing me to live in fear, threatening to kill my family, until one day it must've been satisfied with its fill of fear.
I died, only to be given a rude awakening.
I had no stairway to salvation, only a highway to damnation.