If you ever find yourself walking past 233 Charlton Street in Columbus, don’t look at it. No matter how tempted you are, don’t even think about it. Within these words lies a chilling account of that house and the sinister secrets it hides. Prepare yourselves, I’m telling you this so that you don’t make the same mistakes I did.
It all began innocently enough when I moved into that quaint house that seemed just like any other. A nice little place for me to finally call my own. I’d been saving for years and finally managed to get enough money to put a deposit down on my own place. When the house came on the market I thought it was a steal. A beautiful, Georgian-style house, it was a short walk from both the city centre and my work, and at a very low price I couldn’t help but snap it up as quickly as I could. Within a few weeks, I was all moved in, happy to have my own space in the big city.
Little did I know that behind the charming façade of the place, a malevolent force lay in wait. It started as a whisper, a subtle stirring of unease that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. As I was going about my morning routine, making breakfast and watching a video about a new film that had just come out, I thought I heard a faint noise. It was almost like someone speaking in hushed tones, coming from the door to the basement. I shook it off initially, thinking that it must have been a trick of the mind, or my ears mishearing sounds from my video. But then there it was again. It sounded like it was just behind the door. Slightly shaken, I got up from my table and made my way over to the door that separated the kitchen from the basement. Shakily I gripped the handle, it was freezing to the touch but opened easily enough. When I threw the door open there was nothing there. Just the dark staircase leading down into the basement, cold and silent. I closed the door, scolding myself for being so jumpy and went about the rest of my day.
But as the days passed, the true nature of this awful abode began to reveal itself. Each night turned into a living nightmare as the house’s oppressive silence took hold. It was as if the very air grew heavy with an ancient malevolence, saturating every nook and cranny. And then, the sounds. Those maddening sounds that danced on the edge of perception, tormenting my sanity. Footsteps echoed downstairs when I was trying to sleep. Just like the whispering at the basement door, when I went to investigate there was no one to be seen, leaving me shaken and questioning my own sanity. Were there actually any sounds or was it all just in my head? Was someone else in the house and did I not know? It got to the point where I would dread going to sleep, afraid of what I might hear.
One night I couldn’t stand it anymore, I just couldn’t deal with the phantom noises, plaguing my sleep. When I heard the sound of creaking footsteps in the kitchen I bolted to the stairs, trying to be as fast as I could to finally catch whoever was making the infernal noises. As I reached the final step into the hallway, I heard footsteps again in the kitchen. Racing over, I rounded the corner just in time to see the door to the basement slam shut. Utterly shaken but also vindicated, I grabbed a knife from the nearby rack for defence before deciding to confront my tormentor.
Opening the door I was met with the same gaping dark silence that was the basement staircase. I tried the lights, preferring to confront the noise maker in the light, but as soon as I flicked the switch the bulb in the basement blew, leaving the gaping darkness to fill the void. Grabbing a flashlight from one of my drawers, I clicked it on and shouted a warning to the person in the basement that I was coming down and that if they gave themselves up I wouldn’t press charges. My warnings were met with silence, so with a sense of trepidation I started my descent into the void of the basement.
As soon as I took that first step I noticed how cold it was again. I know that basements are cold but this was something else, it felt like I was standing outside in the middle of winter. Still, I pressed on and made my way into the darkness of the basement, the small cone of my flashlight providing the only illumination. All the while fearing that whoever was in my house may be hiding, waiting to jump out at any moment.
I did a full sweep of the basement, being sure to check all of the places that it was possible for someone to hide. My search was ultimately fruitless, the basement seemed as abandoned as it ever was. There was no trace that anyone had been down here since I moved in. Now even more shaken and confused, I was doubting my sanity more than ever. I turned to leave and as I did I noticed the beam of my flashlight illuminating something strange. It was a pile of boxes that I’d obviously knocked over while searching the dark basement. However it wasn’t the boxes themselves that I found particularly interesting, it was something glinting within one of them.
Getting closer I could see slightly better but was still unable to make it out exactly, it was covered by too much of the cardboard of the box. Pulling the cardboard away I stumbled backwards at the sight of what I had just found. A relic of terror, a weathered Ouija board, untouched by human hands for what felt like an eternity. Looking at the rest of the items in the box I noticed several pictures which I’d never seen before in my life. They looked old, and were in black and white, as though taken by a very early camera. The edges of them had frayed and twisted with age and some of them had faded almost entirely. The photos themselves seemed to be of a family, a mother, father and two young girls.
I’d never seen this box before in my life. It certainly wasn’t here before I moved in, the basement was completely empty and I’d only moved my things here. So how had this box of unusual items ended up here? Pondering this mystery, I made my way back up the stairs, box in hand, with the intention of investigating further in the morning.
Morning broke and with it, my determination to find out what was going on with my house was at an all-time high. I spent that morning on the internet, searching for any sort of clue as to who the family in the pictures were, how the box may have ended up in the basement, and why I was hearing strange noises in my house. After hours of endless scrolling and several dead ends, I was close to giving up, but then I got a response on one of my forum posts. They couldn’t help to identify the family and had no idea how the mysterious box could have appeared in my basement, but they suggested using the Ouija board to see if that gave me any answers.
Normally I would have laughed at the idea of using anything like this seriously, Ouija boards were nothing more than a party trick, something fun to do at sleepovers. But I was getting to the point where I was willing to try just about anything. Against my better judgement, I decided to give it a try that night.
After doing a bit of research I decided that I would start in the basement as this seemed to be the area that most of the activity was centred around. I set everything up, ready for whatever the night would bring. Then I went back upstairs to go about the rest of my day, waiting for night to fall.
As it started getting later an excitement in me grew, along with a feeling of apprehension. I shook them off as silly nerves, I didn’t think this was actually going to work. Then I heard it. The creak of the basement door and the noise of footsteps in the kitchen. As I made my way into the kitchen, the footsteps retreated back towards the basement and the door slammed.
Much like the night before, when I opened that basement door I was only met with the gaping abyss of the dark staircase and an oppressive silence.
I made my way down the steps, again noting the unearthly cold until I reached the bottom. From there I made my way over to the far end of the basement where I had first discovered the box and where the Ouija board now lay, surrounded by the pictures of the family that I had placed around it. Kneeling down next to it, I readied myself for what I needed to do.
As my trembling fingers made contact with the planchette, I felt an odd rush, the hairs on my arms standing one end. With scepticism I beseeched the spirits that dwelled beyond our realm, expecting little in the way of anything.
To my shock and horror, the planchette started moving. Slowly at first, but then building up momentum, as though whatever was pushing it was getting stronger. I watched in awe as it traced back and forth between the letters of the board, ultimately spelling out a single word. “Beware”.
A thrill of excitement shot through me like a shock of electricity, making me shiver. It worked. It was real, ghosts, the afterlife, all of it. My mind raced, thinking of all of the possibilities that this meant. Struggling to contain my excitement, I proceeded to ask why I should beware. Again the planchette snaked its way between the letters of the board, ultimately spelling out the word “Father”. I uttered the word as it was spelt, and as soon as the last syllable left my lips, a cold wind whipped around the basement, causing the candles to flicker and splutter menacingly.
From that point on, the atmosphere in the basement seemed to change, there was an oppressive feeling in the air as though a malicious presence was looming, watching my every move. With a newfound sense of dread, I proceeded to ask the board yet another question. This time, the planchette flew jerkily between the letters of the board as if thrown across it violently. As it jerked across the board it spelt out the word “Leave”. Shaken by the sudden change in the spirits’ attitude, I proceeded with yet another question. Yet again the planchette flew violently across the board spelling out the same word.
Every subsequent question I asked was met with the same, aggressive response. The darkness in the room seemed to swell, almost suffocating me. As I was about to ask another question, hoping that the spirits would be more reasonable with their answers, I heard a crashing noise that caused me to spin around with a start.
Reeling around I noticed that the pile of boxes in the corner had collapsed, strewn across the floor as though they had been thrown by some malicious force. The contents within were strewn across the basement floor, scattered and broken. I was terrified, realising that whoever I was now speaking to did not want me here, and was getting stronger. At this realisation, I knew I had to gather up my things and get out of there.
Turning back to the board, I froze in terror at what I saw. Standing, obscured in shadow, was the form of a man. He looked to be in his late fifties, dressed in classic Georgian dress, but something was off. His blue clothes and white cravat, once elegant looking and regal, now appeared dishevelled, as though the years of time had ravaged it. That wasn’t the worst part though, as my eyes made their way up to his pale, decrepit face, I was met with a sight that still haunts me to this day.
His face was a twisted mask of rage, his features contorted in anger, and in the centre were his two, burning eyes. His eyes seemed to bore into mine and I could feel the hatred burning into my very soul. I noticed that there were flecks of what appeared to be dried blood, splashed around the edges of his face, adding to the contorted mask. His jaw began to descend revealing a gaping maw, with rows of discoloured, rotten teeth lining the perimeter of his lips. They descended far wider than any pair of human jaws should be able to, revealing a black abyss. Then, a shriek so loud and horrible I swear I can still hear it, issued from the void and the candles went out.
At this point, shaking and stumbling in the dark, reason and sanity left me and I ran as fast as humanly possible out of that basement. Several times I tripped over the scattered boxes and items on the floor until I finally reached the staircase to my salvation. Fear granted me one last glance behind me, the burning eyes of the ghastly figure had gone, leaving only the dark basement behind.
I fled up the stairs, a cold sweat dripping down my face. Slamming the door behind me, I flew up the main staircase and into my bedroom, slamming the door and dragging my desk in front of it to barricade it. What had I just seen? There was no way it could be real. I didn’t know what it was or what it wanted but I couldn’t get its hateful face out of my head.
Eventually, I managed to fall asleep, but nightmares plagued me every moment. Twisted faces leered at me from the darkest corners, their eyes brimming with malice, their voices whispering malevolence into the recesses of my mind. I was trapped, ensnared by an unseen force that revealed in my torment. All of the nightmares culminated in the same thing, that horrific, contorted face.
Waking the next morning in a cold sweat, I knew I needed to do something, find out more about the man I had seen in the basement. Remembering the photos that I’d found in the basement with that cursed Ouija board, I went back through them to see if I could find any clues as to who that spectre could have been. I dropped the photo in shock as soon as I saw it. To my horror, when looking through the aged depictions I saw him, the man from the basement. He was there in all of the photos, with his wife and two daughters, but he looked different. He seemed happier and his face was calmer, more approachable.
Not sure of what to do or how to get my house back from the evil presence that haunted it I enlisted the aid of a paranormal investigator, a brave soul who shared my thirst for truth. Toby Jones was a young man in his mid-twenties who had a passion for ghosts and the supernatural, so when I found him online he jumped at the chance to check out a haunting like this. I’d given him ample warning before his first visit as to what had previously occurred but he was still resolved to uncover the mysteries with me.
On his first visit, Toby merely observed the noises and basement door slamming that had been occurring nearly nightly for the past few weeks. I think it filled him with a sense of wonder that he was finally observing a real-life ghost. The next day Toby returned with several items I’d never seen before. He pointed some of them out as things like smudge sticks and incense to purify the area that the ghost had taken residence in as well as some other items that I didn’t pretend to understand.
Toby was pretty convinced that he would be able to rid the basement of the horror that had been tormenting me the past few weeks. He told me that he would need to go down there tonight with the intention of banishing the ghost with incantations he’d learned online and the items he’d bought with him. I was sceptical at his chances of actually being able to pull it off, he was a nice enough man but he seemed very inexperienced. Ultimately though I was unable to convince him otherwise, so with an uneasy feeling we waited until nightfall.
As the sun started to sink behind the clouds we started to hear the familiar footsteps in the kitchen that marked the start of the night’s haunting. Toby gathered up his things, and with an air of sadness, I watched him descend the staircase into the abyss of the basement. I wish I’d never let him go.
There was silence for what felt like hours, occasionally broken by the sounds of Toby shouting an incantation. The smell of incense was thick in the air, choking my lungs as it slipped under the basement door.
After what felt like an eternity I heard a sound that made my blood run cold. There was an almighty bang from the basement, as though something massive had fallen. Fearing for Toby’s safety, I swung the door open and tried the light switch. The switch did nothing, the bottom of the staircase still an inky void devoid of all light, and worse still there was no answer from Toby. Then, a sound reached me that made my hair stand on end. The slow, malicious laugh of someone well past their years. Then another sound, it was a foot on the bottom step. As the person at the bottom of the stairs started to make their way into the light of the staircase I was relieved to see it was just Toby, still, there was something off about him. His head was slumped and he was carrying something long and metallic in his hands. Then he lifted his head up and I screamed.
His face was contorted into that same mask of hatred worn by the figure I had seen earlier and his eyes were burning unnaturally with a fierce anger that I’d never seen in him before. I was frozen in place as he continued his advance up the stairs, and I was able to finally make out what it was that he was carrying.
In Toby’s hands was what appeared to be a very old shotgun, almost antique-looking in its ornate design. I have no idea where he got it from as there were no guns in the house and he certainly hadn’t bought it with him. Like a deer in headlights, I was unable to move until, with another menacing laugh, Toby began to raise the shotgun at me.
Control snapping back, I dived to my right just as a shot rang out from the barrel and shattered the wood of the doorframe. I knew I had to get up, get as far away from Toby or whatever was controlling him as possible. Scrambling to my feet I ran into my living room and took refuge behind my sofa, another shot narrowly missing my head by inches, causing the books on my bookshelf to explode.
My mind was racing, I was struggling to comprehend what was happening, all I knew was that I needed to get out. Then, I saw my escape route. If I could run to the hallway that led to the front door, then Toby would no longer have a clean shot at me and I could escape into the streets. With this plan in mind, I steeled myself, ready to run for my life. All the while Toby’s footsteps were getting closer.
Launching myself with an explosive movement, I dived from my hiding place to the doorway of the hallway, narrowly avoiding another shot from the laughing Toby which shattered the floorboards.
I knew I didn’t have much time, I needed to get out before Toby rounded the corner or I would be stuck, or worse. Mustering all of the strength my adrenaline boost had given me I ran as fast as I could to the door at the end of the hall.
Fumbling with the key in the lock I could hear the footsteps of Toby as he rounded the corner, another mocking laugh coming from his twisted mouth, eyes still blaring with disdain. At that moment I heard a click as I managed to unlock the front door. With one final effort, I threw the door open, my eyes being greeted by the quiet streets beyond. Hurling myself through it, I heard the ringing of another shot from Toby’s gun and felt a searing pain in my left calf.
Falling to the ground in pain I knew this was it, it was over. I readied myself, waiting for that final shot and the oblivion it would bring. But it never came. Opening my eyes I could see Toby, standing at the doorway with a twisted grin, he was standing there, staring hate at me, but he was unmoving.
Then, he turned on his heel and walked back into that awful house. I managed to drag myself away, eventually getting help from a passer-by who took me to the nearest hospital where they sorted out my ruined leg.
Shortly after the police came by to interview me about the night’s incidents. I explained everything to them in as much detail as I could, aware of how insane I sounded. After hours they left me alone to my thoughts, to go and investigate the house. I wondered what had happened to Toby after I fled, if he had managed to fight off the evil that seemed to possess him. Then my thoughts were interrupted by the shrill ringing of my phone. Picking it up, the number on the screen was that of the detective who had interviewed me earlier.
Shakily I answered the phone, unsure of what the detective would want. The detective proceeded to tell me that they had done a sweep of the house and had found the holes from the shotgun blasts. Other than that nothing was out of place other than in the basement. When the officers had descended to that gaping void they were met with a shocking sight.
What the detectives told me next nearly made me drop my phone. The basement looked like it was ransacked, boxes and items strewn everywhere. There, in the centre, sat over the Ouija board was Toby. He was motionless, with the barrel of the antique gun still in his mouth.
The detectives confirmed that he had died last night, shortly after the bypasser had found me. I didn’t know what to think, poor Toby had died trying to defend me from the horror that lurked in the house. If he hadn’t tried to help me he would still be alive.
Desperation drove me to try and research the house’s dark history. It was difficult, there were hardly any records available at the time and the historical societies I approached were not able to provide much either. Since the incident, I’ve been able to determine more. What I uncovered sent a chill down my spine. Decades ago, that awful place had been the stage for a gruesome tragedy.
A father, Mikheil Nozadze, driven mad by jealousy when he found that his wife had been having an affair with a local merchant, annihilated his wife and two daughters with a shotgun before taking his own life with the very same weapon. The bloodstains had long since been scrubbed away, parts of the house replaced or changed but the memory of the gruesome incident still remained, buried in the past. Every person who owned the house since then has either fled in terror, claiming to have seen a ghastly apparition who tormented their nights, or if they persevered, had ended up being found after taking their families and their own lives with an antique shotgun that no one remembers the family buying.
Ultimately, I made the heartbreaking decision to flee that wretched abode, never to return. As I packed my belongings during the day, a mix of relief and sorrow washed over me. I was leaving behind the horrors that had plagued me, but I couldn’t shake the guilt that consumed me. The knowledge that another unsuspecting soul would soon call that house their own.
So please, for the love of god, don’t go into that house!