The Thing At The Window

Chapter 1

When I was younger, I remember living with my cousins in this old backwoods town, Darceto. It was a speck on the map, right at the edge of Massachusetts, and since I left for college, I haven't heard jack shit about it anywhere.
That's about all I remember about Darceto, for some reason. I feel like I should know more about the place, considering I lived there for seventeen years, but every time I think about it, my mind just redirects itself. I don't know how, and I don't know why, but I think I'm getting closer to the answer.
A couple weeks ago, I got an eMail from my friend, Michael. Him and I often exchange creepypastas or videos, constantly trying to make eachother scared. It's part of a bet we made last year, and it doesn't show any signs of slowing down soon.
Anyway, the eMail's subject was 'Do I win yet?'. I smirked a bit at his little crack at me, and then opened it. Within the eMail was a single link, along with the words 'Thought you'd enjoy this.'
I took a deep breath and clicked the link, expecting a screamer to pop up as soon as the page loaded. I relaxed a little bit when I saw that the website was for a newspaper. Of course, one look up at the header had my interesting peaking again.
This was the website for the Darceto Gazette.
How had Michael known about Darceto? I don't recall ever telling him much about my childhood. Oh, god. Does that mean he knows about my inability to remember much about the
I gave into my overwhelming curiosity and scrolled down to the article. The website was surprisingly well-made for something created in an out-of-the-way town like Darceto.
The headline of the article sent a chill down my spine; 'LOCAL BOY BURNS DOWN OWN HOUSE.' I scanned the article, and when I was sure there were no little 'surprises' as Michael was so fond of, I continued.

Last tuesday, Darceto resident Will Hartman (7) set his own house alight. Neighbors reported smoke to officials, but by the time the fire department arrived, the house had already crumbled.
Psychologists have recently diagnosed Will with schizophrenia. Father, Jared Hartman, says that Will has shown signs of this before; One night, he walked in on his son waving a kitchen knife at the window. When questioned, Will said he was "keeping the thing outside."
He continues to make references to his imaginary 'thing' throughout his psychological assessments. While being questioned by psychologists, he admitted that the reason he ignited his house was because "the thing got inside."
Will has been admitted temporarily to a mental home in Arkham. We will keep you updated on the situation as it develops.

When I read that last word, I sat back in my chair, struck dumb with awe and horror. My mind could hardly correlate what I had just read. Hartman's surname seemed familiar to me, but, as with everything about Darceto, it was just a vague hint of a memory.
This entire series of events was astounding. To know that there was a schizophrenic child living in my childhood home, combating some made-up 'thing', was too much to bear.
Worse was the horrifying sense of deja vu that washed over me when he mentioned his 'thing.'

The way this ends doesn't instill much of a desire to keep reading, but its ok I guess.
I'd give a more in depth analysis, but I'm not the creepypasta guy.

Chapter 2

I talked to Michael a couple days ago. He said he doesn't remember how exactly the article came to his attention; he was just wandering around the web when he stumbled upon it. Apparently, he also had no idea I had used to live in Darceto, because he responded with a hysterical 'holy shit' when I told him.
Meanwhile, I've been looking a bit more into Darceto. This is the first time I've heard of it since I left, and tracking down the rest of the website again was quite a pain in the ass after I deleted the eMail in my momentary uncomfortability.
I finally managed to get back to the Darceto Gazette's webpage yesterday. It had a really obscure address, too; http://wearedarcetoforwearemany.net. I have to admit, it creeped me out a bit, as it was an obvious reference to the biblical phrase 'I am Legion, for we are many.'
It's weird, the place isn't on any maps, or any other websites besides its own. Its as if it only halfway exists.
I spent about ten minutes browsing the rest of the articles before I got bored. Everything else was so... mundane. I had been looking for some insight into this 'thing at the window' case, but all the other pages were about elections, or TV shows, or new plays at the small theater on the edge of town.
Finally, I decided to head back to the source; the very first article Michael sent me. The strange thing is, that even after an hour or two of searching the website, turning the entire mass of data upside down and sideways, I couldn't find the article anywhere.
Yes, I know I'm living the most cliched horror trope ever, and yes, I know that you're probably thinking you'd laugh your ass off if this happened, but at the moment, it was the most unnerving thing I've ever experienced in my entire fucking life.
I eMailed Michael again to see if he could re-send me the link. He says he has no idea what I'm talking about. I'm inclined to believe he's fucking with me like he always does. However, considering I don't remember anything about it, there's a schizophrenic little boy fighting his imaginary friend there, and the article seemed to have erased itself, its not that far of a stretch to say he might have forgotten as well.
I don't know what I'm going to do. I'm more curious than ever about Darceto, and considering all that's happened, I've good reason to be. I feel like there's something for me there. I don't know why. There's one part of me that wants to find out what the fuck is going on, and there's another part that wants to curl up under my bed and never come out.
Which side I want to win out, even I don't know.

Prediction: The guy who burned his house down is the narrator something something memory suppression from seeing a horrible monster

The monster was also him

And he sent the article to himself from the future

I like it so far, but I'm not good at offering constructive reviews. I'll keep reading updates!

Chapter 3

I've pretty much abandoned going to classes, now. My dormroom is where I spend the most time, researching Darceto and desperately trying to glean any information from the internet.
I've managed to find one, and only one, mention of the town beyond Darceto Gazette; in this old retired forum called 'Too Hardcore for this Dimension.' I thought it was a bit of an odd name myself, but I assumed it was a joke and moved on.
There was a single topic, posted last february, that concerned Darceto. It was called 'Need inspiration for story' and was obviously posted by a writer with writer's block.
The reply came from a user named TheJourney42, and was as follows:

If you need inspiration, you should just visit Darceto, Massachusetts. They've got something for every genre; the playhouse for drama, the fields for romance, the local pub for action, and the House of Asphodel for horror.

It was this 'House of Asphodel' that piqued my interest. What was it? The name reminded me of the Asphodel Plains from classical mythology. Could it be some mythological museum? Then why was it associated with horror?
Replying to the topic would be pointless, as the entire forum's been inactive for at least six months.
Again, I felt that uncontrollable urge to figure out what was going on. I knew I was part of this, somehow. I was connected in some way beyond my understanding, but connected nonetheless.
With no other references on the internet, I could only find one logical solution.

But I really, really hope it doesn't come to that.

Sorry about the huge break between chapters!

Chapter 4

I've been researching this 'House of Asphodel' thing. Really the only stuff I found was from this website that catalogues obscure monster, biology, and horror miscellania. I think it was called Swampslug or something like that. Anyway, the only mention of it on Swampslug was in a little comment about some student film being shot there.
Here is the comment, copied verbatim from the website itself;
"My friend made a short film based on that idea (aliens were really evolved time-travellers) once. He shot it in this weird little hovel in the middle of nowhere called the House of Asphodel."
That's all I could find. I think I'm going to have to resort to Plan B. I really don't want to. My brain is telling me to stay here and forget about Darceto, but some odd instinct is pretty much giving my brain the finger and telling me to go to the damned town right now.
This whole window/Asphodel/fire thing fascinates me in some way I don't even understand. I know I have something to do with it, but I don't know why. I've probably said this a billion times already, but I have to figure this out. It's like some subconscious urge nagging me in the back of my mind. Why, I don't know. How, I'm clueless.
All I'm sure of is I need to go back to Darceto.

Chapter 5

I'm here at the airport. The last time I came here was on my trip to Italy, but that was four years ago. This time I have a mission. I'm not going to Darceto to sightsee (not that there'd be many sights to see), or to relax, or to get away from stress. In fact, I have a feeling a huge tidal wive of anxiety is rolling towards me right now, and I'm hardly managing to stay above the water.
I've got some Mentos, a bottle of water, my phone, and a couple of bucks. I should be set until I get to Darceto.
Oh, damn it! They just announced my flight has been delayed due to a large storm near here. I guess I'll be spending the night here, but in the meantime, I might as well do a bit more research.
It's 9:47 now, and I'm in my hotel room. It's pretty shoddy, what with the uncomfortable bed, small comforters, and cramped shower, but it should do for the night.
Anyways, I managed to find a historical record of a certain M.D. Roland Cooper, who supposedly lived in Darceto from 1974 to 1983 on Wikipedia. He was apparently known for his practices of 'extreme examinations', in which he would distribute anesthetics to the patient and remove entire limbs to examine their body. They actually somehow proved effective for a couple years, but he was fired after a co-worker discovered he'd been keeping some of the amputated limbs mounted in his room.
That's pretty much it. His Wikipedia article did link to that of Darceto, Massachusetts, but other than vaguely specifying its location and a couple other unimportant details, nothing of interest came up.

Chapter 6

Finally, I'm here in Darceto. It's seriously rural, the airport, shopping mall, and a large hotel being the only modern buildings. The rest are brick houses or cabins made of wood.
I'm at my cousins' place near a little general store on the east side of town. Their golden retriever, Buster, is sitting right next to me as I right this. I have to keep my foot on his side to keep him from tackling and licking me.
I think I'm gonna go do some sightseeing tomorrow, to see if anybody can tell me a bit about the House of Asphodel or that thing at the window or anything else that might help me.
Oh, my uncle's calling. Supper's ready.
...
I wonder if my cousins know why I really came. I mean, seeing them is nice and all, but this whole visit is pretty much just a desperate search for information. At the table, they talked a bit about how hard it must be for Mr. Hartman to have this huge deal with a schizophrenic son, but that's all they said.
I'll snoop around a bit tomorrow, but I can hardly keep my eyes open until then, so adios.
I'll try to keep you updated on my situation.

Swampslug sounds like a cool website, I'll have to go there sometime.

The story's pretty good. The obvious possibilities are: "The narrator is the thing ooooooooo", "the narrator is the kid ooooOOOOOoooo", and "the town is haunted/is full of demons/has a dark secret OOOOOOoooooOOOOO" I'm hoping it will pop out at some completely unexpected angle, though, and I'm sure it will.

To address your predictions: They are all wrong, which I think is a good thing. I'm hoping to go down a story line now of you will see coming.

Chapter 7

I woke up around one o' clock last night. There was this weird 'whooshing' sound that awakened me. Eventually, I realized it was the window. I guess my cousin Tom must have opened it, as it's his room I'm sleeping in.
I headed downstairs and got a glass of water, too. Weird thing is, the moment my feet hit the kitchen tile, I heard Buster whimpering.
The dog had been lying under the living room sofa, trembling like it was spooked by something. I sat down for a bit to comfort Buster. He immediately jumped onto my lap, and I could feel him shivering.
Poor dog...
I think I got back to sleep around one forty-five, but it's hard to tell. I vaguely remember some weird dream where I was sobbing about something and when I stopped, I realized I'd been crying so long that everybody I knew had already died.
I have no idea what that indicates, but I'm sure it can't be good.
Anyway, I'm heading up to the House of Asphodel today. Tom is coming with me. I guess he wants to know if all these rumors about the place are legitamete. I've also been spending more time on Bogleech (it turns out it isn't actually called Swamp Slug).
Not much info there, but there are some really good creepypastas. I know what I'm gonna email to Michael when this shit blows over.
You know, if I make it through it alive...

Your story so far has peeked my interest quite a bit.

If you make it through alive? There is no danger present, or as far as you have currently informed us.

What are you not telling us?

You'll see why he said that very, very soon. I'll just say our narrator isn't revealing everything that's happened in his journal.