MARKED - Demon Killer Part 1

When Aaron Harp was a young boy, he dreamt night after night about this house. Always this house. He didn't know where it was, who it belonged to or what it meant. But it was always the same house.

Just before his 18th birthday, Aaron is visited by an angel who explains that this house was part of his destiny and dropped a bombshell.
Before Aaron was born, he had been marked. Marked a "Warrior of God", a Demon Killer.

And now Aaron had to make a choice of life or death -
Would he train and take up arms to fight the demons himself?
Or would he not and be hunted by demons forever?

It was always at night. Always in the same house. But he had no idea who lived there. It was an older house that looked like it had been built in the early 1900's, maybe somewhere like 1920's or 1930's, but definitely pre-World War II.
It was very well kept and maintained- almost like frozen in time, from what he could see at night. It had a large porch, with three steps leading from the paved walkway up to the porch and the exterior was painted white. Aaron never remembered going through the front door or how he got into the house because when he opened his eyes, he was always in the sitting room.
It was decorated with lace doilies on every table, the walls covered with old black and white photographs in wooden oval frames. But the pictures inside the frames were indistinguishable. Shades of black, white and various hues of gray, blended together like watercolors. Muted from color. Faded with time.
There were two wingback armchairs and a large velvet sofa with wood accents, along with two round end tables, one by each chair. It seemed it could have been the perfect place to sit and read a book or have a nice cup of tea. At one time.
The whole house was filled with old Victorian-type furniture that looked to be as old as the house itself. There were glass chandeliers in every room, and he was sure they sparkled and twinkled when lit, yet they never seem to shine.
On a small table, in the corner of every room, there were hurricane oil lamps that gave him a sense of something eerie. They made the hairs on his body stand up, like lightning was coming. Perhaps it was because he never saw them lit or because if he did, would the shadows that danced on the walls come to life?
The floors were made of hardwood that creaked and moaned with every movement. They were covered in area rugs that were clean, but very worn and some almost threadbare in spots. There was not a speck of dust anywhere, but the air was stale and mildly musty, like the windows hadn't been opened in decades. It was always the same. Not one thing was out of place, ever.

Aaron has had the same dream over and over again for as long as he can remember. What he didn't know is that it wasn't a dream. It wasn't even a memory. It was a premonition. This vision was a preparation for what lay ahead.