The house was absolutely perfect. In the middle of the rainy, peaceful city of Seattle, Washington with a beautiful view of the mountains to the north of us and the dark roiling waters of the bay. The house sat behind an adorable hedge fencing with a wrought-iron gate with a cute little swing attached to an elderly oak tree.

They said the house was fairly new, despite the design. They explained the owner was an invisible, hole-in-the-wall author who made it big and moved to Europe, leaving his dream cottage behind. We were ecstatic that they were selling it for the price they had listed it at. A little apprehensive, yes. I mean who wouldn’t be as low as it had been, but after looking it over and getting it looked at, we decided there was no worry and bought it. It had plenty of room for our children, who had just turn five.

You see, in our haste to move in, we neglected to look into something. It completely went right over our heads to know where the nearest market was. Going to the store was a big hassle, considering the nearest place to get food was a farmer's market that was open every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday. Neither of us wanted to bother getting mixed up in the hipster garbage that plagued those places, no matter how fresh the food was.

Everything went well for the first six months. We raised our hooligans in peace, made friends with the neighbors, and decided we’d go to the store every Friday. Things were good and we were happy. That is until one night my little girl ran downstairs with tears filling her big blue eyes. She looked so scared. I pulled her close to me and asked her what was wrong and she was sniffling too hard to explain. Being the good parent I am, I guided her back to her room and tucked her in. I let her tell me what was wrong before I left.

I distinctly remember her telling me in her dream she'd seen a man and that the man was big and scary and was carrying an axe. I soothed her by telling her it was probably just a nightmare from the show we had been watching. I left the hall light on for her and went back to bed after checking on my son. He was sleeping peacefully, so I kissed his head and left.

After that first incident, things began to pick up. At first, it was hardly noticeable but then it became obvious. We just noticed that the windows were open more often when we had sworn we shut them. One morning our milk no longer tasted like the typical whole milk we had bought. That’s what was really strange because we had only just visited the store two days ago. One afternoon a merchant from the farmers market appeared at our doorstep claiming we ordered his pesticide-free avocados, but when we looked at the phone records no one had called.

We were puzzled as to what was going on but could not for the life of us figure out what was happening. Then the dreams began.

Everyone in the house had the same nightmares over and over. The axe-man as my daughter had called it. He became so clear in the dream world. Large, mountain of a man with a long dark beard and mustache. We never saw the rest of his face except his eyes which seemed to glow a lively blue color. Every night at exactly 3:00 a.m., I would wake up in a cold sweat craving something I can’t quite pin. I end up drinking coffee until morning comes. I have grown increasingly addicted to it since the nightmares began.

The days seemed to drag by. Our house that had once glowed with the light of a new family seemed to have dimmed. Everyone had the life drained from them. If it wasn’t our daughter waking in the middle of the night crying, it was our son. We had to alternate who would put them back to bed. We gave up on buying milk as it always tasted strange the day after, as well stopped going the store and just going to the farmers market. We were in a rut and our lives had become dreary and bland, leaving us in a state of melancholy.

Then the activity stopped. We figured it was because we were going to have another kid and the news filled a void we didn’t know about. Neither of us believed it could’ve been something supernatural. But we were oh so wrong.

As soon as our third child was born, the activity picked up ten fold. Our furniture was rearranged; our TV was set to channels like Animal Planet and the Discovery Channel; we found our bread had begun to go bad too soon. It was horrible. Finally, we caved and began looking for a new house. Our dream house became our nightmare home.

The last night we were in the house I remember waking up earlier than 3 a.m., it was closer to right after midnight. My daughter was pulling at my arm and pointing to the end of my bed, a look of fear on her face. My eyes full of sleep. I glanced down towards the end of my bed and my blood turned to ice. The axe-man loomed over us. His icicle eyes glowing with wrath and his shirt dripping with water.

“What-What do you want?” My voice shook as I screamed at him, my wife not seeming to hear me. “Don’t come any closer, don’t hurt my family!” The thing seemed to make a groaning noise as if trying to make words. He opened and closed his gaping mouth and then finally yelled:

“I'M A VEGAN! JUST THOUGHT YOU SHOULD KNOW!”