I (16M) saw something this afternoon, and I don’t know what will happen to me tonight. To explain, I think I should give a bit of background before I get into what happened.
I live in a small town in the state of Georgia. The neighborhoods in my town are relatively safe compared to the city, but they still have their fair share of rowdy behavior in the evening. Unlike most people, I haven’t traveled out of state. The furthest I’ve ever traveled was to Savannah for a beach trip with my family, but that was years ago.
Anyway, I’ve lived in this town for 16 years, and this summer one of my friends got his driver’s license. He was so excited to use it that he, along with the rest of our friend group, decided to pool our money together for a road trip to Miami. It would have been my first time traveling out of state, although not my first beach trip. Additionally, this summer would have marked my first time working a part-time job.
The trip was scheduled in 3 months, and we had that much time to pool together the money. We all decided to get part-time jobs. However, unlike everyone else who managed to find jobs within walking distance from home, I had to take a 30-minute commute to work. It wasn’t too bad; I worked the 2nd shift schedule and got off at a reasonable time. So, it’s safe to say that I had never encountered any sort of trouble.
My commute takes me from my neighborhood bus stop on a 9-minute walk through a strip mall and then through a suburb. From there, I take the bus that drops me off roughly a block from my job. I’ve taken this route for the past 3 weeks. I want to say that I never believed in all the folktales surrounding my town, but that house—the one I saw during my usual afternoon commute—has confused me.
I took my usual walk to catch the bus for my commute when it happened. From what I could tell, the sky was clear, and there were no expected storms or rain. So, when the fog crept out of nowhere, I was startled. Looking back on it now, it seems even weirder that it happened. I recall how the haze rose from the ground in a purposeful manner, similar to smoke from a vape or a cigarette. However, it didn’t disappear or fade away; it just hung there. I distinctly remember the smell of soapy roses, which, although better than the dumpster smell on the street, had something off about it. One after another, wisps of white haze blew over like blankets or sheets. By the time I stopped walking, the entire place was covered in this grayish-white smoke. I was completely surrounded by the soapy smell, and it made me feel nauseous. I couldn’t see further than probably 4 ft ahead of me. The world turned into this soapy, white bubble of space, and my nerves went haywire. I had never experienced such dense fog before, and I hoped I never would again. The feeling of the fog around me was heavy, and it made my breathing feel shallow, as if I was swimming. I had no choice but to stop walking and try to calm my nerves. Amidst the soapy smog, I couldn’t see anything, and I felt sick. Attempting to use my phone’s light to shine through the vaporous white fog only resulted in failure.
At that moment, something strange happened to the ground beneath me. It’s hard for me to fully describe, but it reminded me of the beach trip I went on years ago. I remember standing by the shore and digging my feet into the wet sand. Whenever the waves washed over my feet, the sand would literally be pulled away, as if being weaned away from me. This time, I lost my balance. The best way I can describe it is that the ground underneath me was pulled away, or perhaps I was being pulled away by something. In my half-crazed terror, I flung myself backward, causing my hands to hurt from the scraping. That’s where the similarities between the beach trip and what I experienced this afternoon end. On the beach trip, the ground didn’t pull me into the water, but this time, the solid ground underneath me pulled me. I felt myself being dragged through this white smog of soapy roses, and a shadow began to draw closer. Panicking, I tried to resist being pulled toward it, but I didn’t know what would have stopped this dragging. I desperately attempted to dig into the asphalt beneath me, causing my hands to start bleeding and the skin on my palms and fingertips to rip. Eventually, I gave up, and the shadow continued to grow larger and larger. The once stationary white clouds surrounding me started to move, like slow tendrils, as if everything around me was moving backward or perhaps forward—I don’t remember because all I knew then was that I was being dragged somewhere toward something. Then, the currents of white slightly receded, lingering around the road I was dragged along and the house.
That house stood silently abandoned, looming with its large three-story structure, decayed and old-looking. Overgrown weeds surrounded the outer barrier of a black metal fence-gate, standing about a foot taller than me. Everything that had been dulled by the fog now appeared sharper, possibly because of the pain in my hands, but everything felt too real. I almost wished to be surrounded by the oppressive smog rather than standing before the looming house. The gates were made of black iron with feathered leaf-shaped tips connected to a spear-like form. They were double-doored but not locked by any chain or lock. I remember trying to catch my breath and bring my pounding heart rate down. That’s when I heard the sound of droning cars in the distance. In my head, the sound of speeding cars meant a highway, and a highway meant people. If I could just flag someone down or find a way to escape from this fog, maybe even hide inside a gas station, I knew I’d be safe.
I began searching for the direction from which the car sounds were coming, but the thick white haze surrounding me and the house made it impossible. I could see the road I stood on and the directional paint for the lanes, but I couldn’t see anything else. There were no shapes of houses, no sight of cars. Just sound, fog, and the house. With my heart pounding like an anthem of a heart attack, I tried to stay calm and navigate through this fog-induced blindness. But before I could get a sense of my surroundings, the gates of the black iron fence opened with a creaking metallic yawn, dangerously screeching toward me. Beyond the gate, a howling wind blew, kicking up dead leaves from the yard. It was strange. Why was the air so cold? Why did the oak tree, sitting menacingly in the yard, shed leaves in the middle of summer? Why was the smell of roses, once soapy and foamy, gradually turning rotten? I didn’t have time to ponder these questions because as soon as the gates opened, I was being dragged again. The ground beneath me gave way, pulling me forward like a conveyor belt. This time, it was slower, and as I was pulled past the gates, I could faintly hear 80s pop music playing. I think it was Cyndi Lauper’s “Girls Just Want to Have Fun.” I know it doesn’t make sense, and I may sound crazy, but it gets worse. The upbeat rhythm of “oh girls, they wanna have fun” felt contorted in tones that didn’t feel right. The chilly wind blowing over the house grew even colder, and my body felt stiff as if I had turned into a board. I didn’t know what to do at the time, but when the tips of my shoes hit the porch, something compelled me to look up at the numbers hanging over the doors of that house. In bold, the same black rusted color as the gates, the numbers read—4918.
Those numbers stuck with me. They weren’t special; in fact, they were normal compared to the fog, the house, and that music. “They just want, they just wanna GIRLS!” That distorted music played from the 3rd floor, reaching its tendrils through the broken glass window and down to where I stood. I kept looking up, fixated on the structure of this decrepit house. The longer I looked, the larger it seemed to loom over me. It was either growing, or perhaps I was shrinking. In the next moment, the door slowly croaked open, emitting a sound akin to a wooden board bending. The hinges screeched towards me, and the music grew louder.
I saw rats spill out from the crack of the door, scurrying away as fast as they could, passing me without even noticing. They were numerous, forming a horde of gelatinous, dull-brown creatures lumped together and running at full speed. Their goal seemed to be escape. At that moment, I thought I must be seeing things. After all, I had been inexplicably pulled into this soap-smelling fog, brought to a house, and now I was witnessing a rat marathon. It was only reasonable for me to feel caught in a strange nightmare. Maybe I had been hit by a car, or perhaps I had passed out on the street. But these rats… They looked like rats, with their long pink tails and grayish-brown fur. However, I couldn’t recall seeing any facial features. Rats have whiskers, beady eyes, a snout, and teeth. But these rats lacked any discernible features. They were faceless.
I didn’t have time to process it. Even now, I don’t understand what, why, or even how. All I know is that inside the house, past those cobwebs and dust motes, there was a whispering creak. The music played hoarsely, and every nerve in my body fired off. It was getting closer, and when I saw its pale hand reach from the peak of the staircase, a shiver ran down my spine. My stomach did cartwheels as I watched it pull on that dusty carpet, filling me with a sense of dread. I told myself to run, to stop standing there watching whatever that was coming down the stairs. But I was stiff again, like a statue. It dragged itself further, and I saw its papery white skin practically glitter under the patches of sparse sunlight. That damn song kept playing in its broken and damp tune—”Ooh~ girls just want to have fun.” The chorus played at its highest point, and that shape, that thing, continued to drag itself down the stairs. I can’t tell you what it is, but I can tell you what I saw. With a wet thump, the body of that thing, dressed in an oversized t-shirt, slid and fumbled down the stairs. It appeared to be a girl, or at least I thought so. She had no face. Like the rats, she was faceless, featureless, but she was loud. She made a sound—a groan filled with agony—as she began to crawl with her bony white hand, pulling herself through the many cobwebs and scattering bugs. “Run,” I kept telling myself, “just fucking move, get away, run towards the cars I heard.” But my body wouldn’t listen, and the thing with no face drew closer.
It felt like an eternity watching it pull itself along the hardwood floors—the thump of its hand, the dragging of its body. The sound grew louder as it approached me. It kept pointing its faceless head towards me, groaning louder than before. It was pleading, begging me for something. Then it would drag itself closer, repeating the process. The sound of agonizing groaning echoed in the air. Finally, the desperation of the thing grew stronger, and I heard it. As the skin that wrapped its face ripped and tore, as the blood sprayed along my face, as the hands grabbed my pants legs, she begged me.
“PLEASE, HELP ME! HE’S TRYING TO KILL ME!”
I snapped out of my paralytic daze and immediately kicked the bloody hands off me. I just ran. I didn’t care about getting lost in the fog. I didn’t care about getting hit by a car. I didn’t care about anything except getting away. I needed to escape. I don’t know what would have happened if I had stayed. But what I do know is that the faceless girl and her scream terrified me. It scared me enough to finally break free. The fog around me whirled, but it didn’t let up. I was running blindly in a phosphorous white. I didn’t stop because behind me, I could hear that music. “Girls just want to have fun.” Over and over again, the lyrics echoed behind me. My legs kept moving, and I didn’t stop until… well, until I heard a blood-curdling scream. For a moment, I turned my head to look back. The house was slowly drifting towards me, floating as if it had no weight, as if the ground was sliding it along like a block of ice. The doors were still open, and I saw someone dressed in black coming down the stairs. They were chasing the girl, and eventually caught up to her. Then, they grabbed her and dragged her back inside. The house continued to slide forward, and the faceless figure, who had been focused on the girl, turned his featureless face towards me. I knew it then, as I know it now. He saw me, and he was going to kill me.
I made it back home. I just kept running away from it, and eventually, I guess I got away. I didn’t go to work; I just ran home, even though the fog was gone. I just ran. When I got home, I gave my parents an excuse for why I didn’t go to work. Then I shut myself inside my room. I haven’t left my room for the last 6 hours or so. But I’m not writing this because of what I saw during the day. I’m writing this because when I looked out my window tonight, I saw fog. That grayish-white blanket slowly drifting along the asphalt road. That wasn’t even the worst part. From my window, I saw a house. A house that hadn’t been there before. A decaying and old house. A house surrounded by rusted black iron gates. A house with numbers written in the same rusted black: 4918. Those doors crept open again, and I can hear the music. The damp and haunting tune of “Girls Just Want to Have Fun” has been playing for the last hour, and I swear I can hear, just beneath the music, a faint agonizing cry and the sound of dragging.