I was 17 years old. Me and my friends loved horror movies and occult stories. We would go in supposedly haunted places, we would read things we should have not read. Then bad things started happening.
One night me and my friend came back to my house, after a 5 minute trip to the grocery store. All the windows were closed, nobody was there. My family was in vacation. As soon as we walked in, a supernatural voice growled at us. We then found bird guano on the ground, but no birds around.
After that day I started feeling followed. I would ride my motorcycle at night feeling that somebody was sitting behind me, seeing people crossing the road and lie on the ground, then disappear.
I couldn't sleep, i couldn't eat much. I thought somebody was watching me while i was sleeping. I thought I was completely going insane, so I left Rome (where i was living back then) and joined my family in their vacation home.
I was scared to talk to anybody about it, i remember the eyes of my now dead grandfather. Those sweet eyes behind those thick glasses, trying to understand what was going on with me. I sat there at the dinner table, bags under my eyes, barely eating and talking. I was scared to go to sleep. I was scared of the dark.
That night I went to bed and started listening to an album I perfectly knew. I was feeling weird again. I still have goosebumps now that i think about it.
I was toss and turning, the music was still playing and at some point the music started to morph and a music box started invading the air.
I remember feeling small, sweaty and scared. I thought i should have screamed but I froze as i started feeling somebody was stepping at the bottom of my bed and standing there, I couldn't see anything but I felt it was happening. I saw the sheets pushed down by some force my eyes couldn't understand.
Then it stopped. I don't recall falling asleep, but i recall what I did the day after.
My parents asked me what was wrong. I was scared to say anything to them. I thought I was crazy! Why wouldn't they think the same?
The sun was setting again, sunset was coming and darkness was once again about to come back to me.
I used to have a moleskine (a travel notebook) at that time where i would write my thoughts, my experiences and some silly poetry.
I thought I was gonna be a writer sometime in my life. I thought i was gonna commit suicide that very day.
I decided to climb on the roof of that house. The sun was about to go down.
I remember sitting there, watching the sun preparing to disappear behind those far mountains. I lighted a cigarette and started writing a little poem. I felt fragile, melting under that red sun and I cried a bit. I didn't want the sun to go down, I didn't want to go to sleep. I wish I had never started that, I wished I could close that door that somehow I had opened. I should have never awoke those spirits. I wrote all of that in that little poetry.

Somewhere in one of my moleskines, that poetry is still protecting me. I will never separate myself from that black notebook that sealed the door that I will never open again.