Short story: That lonely window part 3

That lonely window part 3:

Reports of the house first appeared in the early 1600s, they mentioned an abandoned house that stood all alone in a field. People speculated that the house was owned by a farmer who lost his two only sons in a mine collapse. Others, primarily children and a adults telling their kids to behave, said it was the home of an evil witch who boiled children who wouldn't do their chores. One place all the reports coincided was this: The house was old, abandoned and looked like it was from another time entirely. The old woman who now lives in the house, who is the one who told me this, quoted a particular report of the house written around the 1900s. here are a few as well as I can remember; bare in mind I may not remember her exact words but this is without a doubt the story the old woman read to me.

I, Jon Barmley, have planed to venture into this house for many months now. However it is a large house and since it seems to have been abandoned for a considerable few millennia I feel it best I prepare myself and gather a few men I trust not to flee at any sign of horror or danger. I do not expect any ghosts or demons in the house, for I am skeptical at best; however I have heard certain stories from the distant British colonies in America that have made me question even my own sanity from just reading them and I have heard the tales of a dreaded black book that holds all sorts of blasphemous writings, I cannot recall the name for I am not scholarly to remember or attempt to repeat. But, after all these are merely stories. In the house I do, however, expect to find all sorts of fierce wild animals carrying horrendous disease and plague; this is the sole reason I wanted to prepare and bring men to assist, for I had heard of the dreaded black death and would not like that to experience it for myself.

The Sunday evening started at nine O'clock, it was the only time we could all get together, we entered the house with lanterns in hand and a clear goal in our minds. After approximately ten minutes Davis, one of the bigger men who I enlisted as a sort of security, went missing; we found him a little over five minutes later in a boarded room, boarded up until me and the rest of the party arrived, he was sitting in a lonely chair looking out of a single window, whispering words we couldn't hear. Jefferson muttered something inaudible to Martin who looked at the young boy Mark; whilst  the priest Maxis stood outside the room chanting a prayer, every so often he would mention unhallowed ground. As I approached Davis in his chair I started to see his cold breath and his trembling hands rested on the arms of the chair. His bald head facing away, I still couldn't hear his words, "Davis?" I waited for a response. I took another step, I stepped on something. I pointed my lantern downwards and saw a clump of black hair with a curious red ribbon, I lifted my foot to see the queer black brooch. I pointed my lantern up again. "Davis" I tried to hide how much my voice shook. I take no issue in the act of admitting when I am scared and this was one of the very few moments I could feel my heart race and my forehead become laced in sweat. Davis jumped as if he had just been rudely awoken, he turned and saw me; questioned us then we questioned him, neither of us acquired the answers we wanted. My eyes were following the walls around the room and I began questioning the hundreds of stuffed black birds with the queer colour in their eyes. I had to examine them further. I moved to one and began taking a closer look with my lantern in my right hand. It was real, the tongue of every bird had been removed. That's when it started; the priest with us had started started muttering the lord's prayer and Davis had started chanting something too, they both started quiet but it quickly became a competition to see who could be the loudest. No matter how much I focus my mind, I can never remember the 'words' said by Davis. I only ever feel faint when I think back to that day.

"That's it." The old woman said, she could see how distraught I was from my face. I snapped out of my trance, "but; what about the girl?" The woman stood up, "those legends came later, they say the girl was the granddaughter of an old witch. The witch was said to have killed her husband after he made friends with a bird that the woman hated, she cut out the birds tongue to stop it's speech but the husband exacted his revenge by placing a deadly snake inside a basket and presenting it to the woman. The snake disfigured her, and she cut the tongue out of the man as the granddaughter watched. It's said the granddaughter sits at the window drawing people into this house against her will. Then; the old hag strikes."
I didn't want to look at the woman so my eyes looked around the room. I kept being drawn to the torn up, old, black book. I had realised the ornaments around the room were all dead black birds. "They say the eyes are the key. They say the eyes show if you're taken. If you still have a soul." The woman was closing the gap, her eyes glowing, her face scarred. I panicked, and the very next second the glass of water left my hand and shattered into her face; shattered, blood splattered onto the floor and the ornaments, which for a moment did not appear to be birds, they seemed like they had transmogrified into small black creatures extruding thick slime from their thick tentacles. I picked up my feet and quickly exited the house without looking back. Before I had time to truly think about the events that had occurred I was at my front door.
In the days that followed I had less and less sleep, I stopped going to work, and locked myself in my study. What happened in my study I can honestly say that I do not remember. What I do remember is being haunted by the girl in her window, and the old woman, but not how I saw her, I now know the face I saw was not her true face. Her true face was a decrepit, cracked, more traditional look for a witch. I seem to remember being locked in my office for a few days; until the police came. They charged me with assualting a lonely old woman, and took me away, I did not plead innocent; for no one who's seen what I have can truly say they are innocent. They assessed me and determined that I am insane, maybe I am. I know what I saw. I currently reside in Newcastle's mental asylum, the 'madhouse' I will not stay here long. I will escape soon. I write this account when I can, they give me ten minutes each day to write, at my request. They don't believe I am stable enough- with my assualt- they believe I can't be trusted with a simple pencil when I am not watched. This is for my wife, I am not insane. Do not go near that house, do not let the kids near that house and do not look into the window. Goodbye.