The year was 1964. You were a married woman. You were married to a wealthy man named William Pyre. You two lived in a fantastic house with your son, Noah.

Noah was 15, and you were worried about him. You had been since he was born. He did such odd things. It scared you and your husband.

Starting from when Noah was five, every night at midnight he would crawl out of bed and stare out his bedroom window that looked over the back yard. As if he was watching something. He still does that to this day.

Noah picks and bites at his skin, but pulls his hair out and laughs at cruel things, but what confuses you the most is his fear of a church. Everyone in your family is Catholic, but you could never take Noah into a church or he'd flail around and scream. Its been the same since he was young. You don't understand it, but he's still your baby boy.

It was around 1:30 pm. You were in the study, reading. You soon stood up and looked out the window. Noah's back was toward you, but he was crouched down, seemingly over something. It looked like he was picking at something. The farmers dog stood in front of him, staring down at whatever he was touching.