• Chapter One
    The Attic

    Unless your part of the D.H.A, put this book down unless you have witnessed things that science can't explain. Then continue. But I won't be responsible for anything that might happen. You've been warned...

    George Jackson


    I woke up on a Friday morning. I looked out my window. It was a foggy morning in Pine Leeds, New Jersey. I decided it was time to clean up my attic. But I couldn't do that on an empty stomach. A 27 year old man has to eat.
    I went downstairs and cooked up some eggs and bacon. I toasted some bread and wolfed it all down. I cleaned up the dishes from breakfast and went up to my attic. I pulled down the the ladder leading to the attic and climbed up.
    The first thing I noticed was the smell. It smelled like aged bat guano. Luckily there was a can of citrus scented air freshener. I sprayed around and the smell got worse.
    Now it smelled like citrus bat guano. I opened the window beside a box and let the morning air take over.
    I opened the box next to the window and blew off the dust. I saw my high school yearbook. And I suddenly remembered an old story. But some things are meant to be left alone. I suddenly heard a rustling sound at the far left corner in my attic. I turned on my light switch.
    It had a head of a coddle dog, a crane's neck, bat wings, a horses body, and legs of a crane. The infamous Jersey Devil. I screeeched at me. I ran back to my high school memory box and grabbed a sword in it's sheeth. I pulled it out and ran toward an old friend.
    "Say hello to Floyd for me," I yelled. I slashed at it's right wing and the Jersey Devil disapered in a flash of light and let out it's final screech. This isn't possible, I thought. I killed that thing 12 years ago. I ran out of my attic and locked the door behind me. It was time to call an old friend.