Hey all,
I’m not really sure how to start this post without sounding a little unhinged, to say the least. A friend of mine referred me to this page after I told her what’s been going on with me lately, as people on this page seem to be discussing similar ‘issues’. Before anyone says anything about how I should maybe talk to a professional instead of relying on strangers on a message board, I have an appointment set for next Monday with a psychiatrist. I’ve also changed the batteries in the carbon monoxide sensors in my house, just in case a gas leak or something was causing me to hallucinate. No such luck.
Alright, here goes nothing.
When I was a kid, about six or seven years old, I moved in with my dad in Montana. My parents split up when I was too young to remember it, and my mom lived in Florida with her new husband, Carl, and his three kids. My dad offered to take me while my mom got settled in Florida, and then offered to take full custody of me after about a year of us living together. My mom consented, and I permanently lived with my dad in his house. It was about three bedrooms, two baths, with a big piece of property out back and no neighbors for miles. The thing that I remember most about the house though was the basement.
My dad was something of an amateur hunter and craftsman, a real salt of the earth kind of guy. He was nice enough, but he lacked some kind of warmth to him. He was nice to me, he always held my hand when we were in public, but I don’t ever remember him hugging me. Like, when he smiled, it never fully reached his eyes. I don’t think he wanted a kid, and I think my mom saw me as a reminder of her failed first marriage, so I think he was trying his best to be the bigger person and try to make my childhood pleasant despite being generally unwanted. Anyway, he would spend hours down in his basement working on various projects. He did taxidermy on the stuff he hunted, which really creeped me out, but it seemed to make him really happy so I couldn’t really complain. When he was happy, everything was just a little brighter in our otherwise gray house.
Our house was situated on a big plot of land with a thick forested area in the back. Dad had fenced off the tree line so I wouldn’t wander off and get lost somewhere and added a swing set for me near the back door. There was a tiny window by the back door that I could see into from my swing set that led to the basement. When I cheerfully told my dad I could watch him do his projects while I played from there, he promptly put up black out curtains. I was confused and a little hurt by this, but he told me he just liked his privacy while he worked. I didn’t have any friends and our nearest neighbors were miles away, so I would entertain myself in the house with games, TV, dolls, and playing out back on the swings. The house, despite only having two occupants, was loud. Dad’s power tools were audible from the living room, despite the thick paneling he had installed down in the basement shortly after I moved in, and sometimes I could swear I heard whimpering or little cries. Once or twice, I heard what sounded like an outright scream. He just said it was the creaking of the wood flooring. It was an old house, he said, it breathes like a person. The way he said that, cryptically almost, really stuck with me. I stopped bringing it up after a while.
Sometimes at night I would hear the little whimpering creaks, and occasionally they would sound just a little too human. I tried to stay in my room and shut the door, worried whatever was causing those little creaks wasn’t just the house ‘breathing’, but something out there in the darkness.
One night, around my 8th birthday, that fear was realized.
My dad had already come out of the basement after finishing his work for the night and had shut off the hall light. I could always hear his heavy footsteps up the carpeted stairs and see the light streaming in from beneath my door suddenly go out, signaling it was time to sleep. Usually I wouldn’t leave my room after that, I didn’t want to risk waking him up. I did that once and he was miserable the next day, snapping at every little thing. He scared me when he was like that.
This night though, I was so thirsty. I just wanted a little cup of water to bring back to my room. After weighing out the risks, I silently tip-toed outside of my room and down the carpeted stairs, trying my best to blend into the silence and darkness. When I reached the bottom of the stairs though, I saw the basement door. It was open.
It was never ever open.
It gaped open its dark maw, staring at me.
Threatening me.
I was frantic to get away from the door. Something in me just knew, whatever was down there, for whatever reason, I wasn’t supposed to see. I don’t know if it was just that childhood fear of the dark or fear over my dad’s reaction, but I was well and truly scared. Before I could retreat back upstairs, I heard a whimper in the corner of the kitchen. I reflexively flinched and then realized what I heard was distinctly human, or at the very least, animal-like. Thinking some kind of creature had gotten into the house from the woods, I peeked around the corner to see a scraggly little girl, perhaps a few years younger than myself, curled into a ball on the floor.
She wore dirty pajamas that were in tatters, and her hair was long, dark, and horribly matted. She was so emaciated she hardly looked human. I was frozen as she looked up at me. Her eyes were milky and glazed over. It didn’t seem like she could see me, she must’ve been blind. She just stared in silence. A moment passed and neither of us moved. Finally, she opened her mouth and whispered something. It was more of a raspy hiss than human speech. I cautiously leaned towards her and asked what she said. She opened her mouth wider, looking almost inhuman as she did, and I saw it. The stump of a tongue. It was freshly severed. She garbled something at me, scaring me half out of my wits. I was so scared I passed out right there on the kitchen floor, this spectral, haunting thing leaning over me slurring a repeating phrase.
“GAVEEE, GAVNEEEE!”
When I woke up the next morning, I was back in bed. The only evidence of my trip to the kitchen was a full glass of water beside my bed. It was just a glass of water, but it chilled me to the bone. When I came downstairs, my dad was making pancakes and he greeted me with one of his signature fake smiles. The basement door was closed once again. I never saw it left open again.
So, back to the present day issue.
It’s been about fifteen years since that incident, and I now live in Florida, about a twenty minute drive from my mom. After college, her health started failing and she reached out to me in an attempt to reconnect and make amends. I was hesitant at first, but I’ve always really wanted a relationship with her, so I agreed. We’ve actually become really close, and I take care of her when my step-dad, Carl, is working or needs a hand.
My new house is a one story, two bedroom house in a fairly safe neighborhood. I live by myself and rarely have any issues, but lately, my sanity has been challenged. I’m not sure if it’s the stress of my mom being sick, or if I’m just losing it, but I keep having a late night visitor. It’s her. The girl from my childhood.
She’s older now, like she grew up with me. I keep hearing scratching from below the floorboards, like someone is trying to burrow their way out of the ground, or escape a basement. Like I said, I live in Florida. We don’t have basements because of the high water table. I hear the whimpers, the creaks, and the cries of my childhood home every night. It’s impossible, I know, but somehow it’s happening and I can’t make it stop. I’m seeing her all over my house now, especially at night. She keeps repeating that damn phrase, her jaw opened uncomfortably wide, that stump from where her tongue should be wagging around in there. I just want her to go away. It’s almost been a month of this. I don’t know what I can do to make it stop and I’m at my wits end. I’ve screamed at her to leave, but she just goes silent for a second, then starts chanting all over again. I don’t actually believe in ghosts or anything, contrary to what the title of this post may imply, but if this continues I may call in a medium. Anything to make it stop.
So, if anyone has any advice, or maybe a clue to what could cause this, I’d appreciate it.
Thanks guys.