I spend most of my waking hours caring for my elderly grandmother, who suffers from Alzheimer’s disease, which has taken increasingly more and more from her. The daily routine is pretty simple. I get her out of bed, and after a series of mundane tasks, I sit her on the couch, where I read to her or throw on a movie from before I was born. Throw in a few naps and meals throughout the day, and that’s about it.
I dont do anything requiring advanced medical knowledge. A nurse comes by the house twice a week to help with that sort of stuff. I have zero medical training other than a CPR course I took a few months ago in case of an emergency, though I haven’t had to use my new life-saving skill yet, and something tells me that I am already forgetting the basics with each passing day. With any luck, I won’t ever need it, but luck isn’t something in high supply for us lately.
Some people find it sad, and even a little odd, that I, a 23-year-old college dropout, am spending my youth caring for my grandmother instead of finding a job or building a life for myself. To be honest, I dont mind it. My grandma took me in when I was 11 years old after my father and mother split. Neither of them really wanted a child. That was evident from the beginning. I think my mother loved me, but she was never fit to raise a child, and she knew it. My father, on the other hand, was never fit to be around children, let alone take care of one himself. He was always in and out of jail.
Before my grandmother took me in, my fondest childhood memories were when my dad was doing time. Things weren’t so bad when it was just my mother and me. But whenever he returned from his imprisonment, things would always end up falling apart again. It wasn’t a stable place for a family, if you could call us that. When my parents finally did divorce, I was about as dejected and somber as a child could be. The bright beam of childhood innocence had long since faded from my eyes.
That all changed when I went to live with my grandma. Her house was clean and big, and had an acre of land. I had a room to myself and more than two changes of clothes. I thought we must have been rich. As an adult, I know that “rich” is not really the word for my grandmother. Yes, she bought a large home in the 60s but never saved any money. My grandfather passed away before I was born, but from what I hear, he was a great man and an adoring husband to my grandmother. He worked as a teacher and did some odd jobs for friends to bring in extra cash. My grandmother never worked but raised my mom, which was work enough. When my grandpa died, my grandmother was given a decent chunk of change from his life insurance and lived off of that, her disability check, and social security.
Raising me increased her financial burden, but she never let it show on her face. That woman always had a smile on. I wish that smile would come back. Ever since the disease started taking a firm hold on her, she mostly just stares. She speaks, but not enough to have entire conversations. If she has something to say, she says it, and I do my best to respond even if I am unsure what she means. On the other hand, I try to talk to her as much as possible. I’m just so afraid of her feeling alone. It must be such an isolated feeling for your mind to slip away. She allows me to take care of her on the good days, and we spend quality time enjoying novels and her black-and-white TV shows. On the bad days, she won’t let me help at all. I dont quite understand what sets her off, but some days she wakes up paranoid and scared. See, that is why I am writing this. We haven’t had a “good day” in a week. And some weird things are happening. Not just the usual weird. Something is off about the house, my grandma, and maybe me. I’ve changed my name as well as the names of others because I’m somewhat private and don’t want people close to me to know all the details.
Day 1: Sunday
My alarm went off at 5:55 AM. What the hell? I thought. I always set my alarm for 9:00 AM. Although many old people enjoy waking up earlier than the sun, my grandma will sleep all day if I let her. I usually start my day at 9:00, get myself ready, make breakfast, and then get grandma out of bed around 10:00 or 10:30. So why was my alarm going off at 5:55? I turned it off and rolled over, trying to fall back asleep. But before I could, I heard a crash from upstairs. I live in the basement, and Grandma lives in the master bedroom on the main floor. I rushed out of my room and up the stairs as quickly as possible.
Was Grandma hurt? Did she fall? What was she doing out of bed? My mind was racing. When I reached the top of the stairs, I expected to see my grandmother somewhere on the floor, but instead, I saw an empty living room. The lights were still off, and the sun hadn’t come up yet, making the room barely visible. I peered into the master bedroom and found Grandma still fast asleep. I closed the door slowly, trying not to wake her. With Grandma safe in her room, I decided to check the house to see if I could locate the source of the crashing sound. The kitchen looked normal, except for a knife in the sink, which I was pretty sure I had cleaned and put away the night before, but I brushed it off, figuring I had just forgotten the one utensil when doing the dishes.
Next, I checked the living room and found a book on the floor. I keep the house pretty tidy so that Grandma doesn’t trip over anything, so it was definitely odd to find the book in the middle of the room. I picked it up and opened it. It was a scrapbook. It was one of the many my grandmother had put together over the years. This one mainly consisted of photos of my grandparents and a few of my mother when she was young. Closing the book, I walked a few feet to the bookshelf and returned it, where dust had revealed its usual resting place.
I still felt a little groggy, and with my tired mind, I rationalized that my grandma had been looking at the book earlier and left it on the floor without me realizing it. I keep a close eye on her most days, but hey, everyone slips up sometimes. That’s the thing about the human mind. We will do anything to rationalize the unexplainable. It wasn’t until the next day that I genuinely suspected something was wrong. Remembering it was still early and I had about 3 hours before I needed to get on with my day, I snuck out of the house for a quick run. I dont typically leave my grandmother unattended, but she wouldn’t wake up for a while, and it was nice to get some time to myself. I returned to the house half an hour later and took a shower.
Stepping out of the bathroom, I got a text from my girlfriend, Jane. She works at a bakery and always texts me when she heads off to work, though I usually dont reply for a couple of hours because, like I said before, I’m never up this early. The text read, “Good Morning Paul! I’m going to work, but maybe I can swing by later and hang out for a bit?” I smiled and decided I’d surprise her by texting back immediately, “Have fun at work! I love you!” “Wow! You’re up early!” she replied. “Yeah, I got woken up by a loud noise and decided to get a jump start on my day.” I left out the part about my alarm going off 3 hours early.
Once I had finished getting ready for the day, I tended to the lawn and watched some YouTube videos. When it was time to wake up Grandma, I went into her bedroom softly and turned on the light, but to my surprise, Grandma was already awake. She sat at the foot of her bed staring at me, not with her usual blank stare, but a fearful and almost angry one. “Hey, Grandma, what’s wrong?” I tried to make my tone as sincere as I felt. Alzheimer’s can change the brain in a lot of ways, but my Grandmother could always pick up on my tone, and that hadn’t changed a bit. She didn’t reply. She just kept staring at me. I decided to give her some privacy after making sure she was safe. I walked out as I said, “I’ll just be in the living room, okay? You let me know when you are ready to come out.” The doctor told me that eventually, her mind would be so faded that I would have to start taking charge of her routine whether she gave me verbal cues like “I’m ready” or not. But I didn’t want to believe we had reached that point, so I let her spend some time alone in her room, hoping she would appreciate the personal space.
I went to the kitchen to make some breakfast. As I glanced into the sink, ready to wash the knife I had forgotten about the night before, it was gone. That was weird. But being the eternal rationalist that I am, I figured I was tired when I noticed it earlier and was probably mistaken. There is a window above the kitchen sink, which gave a beautiful view of the lawn I had just mowed. As I admired my hard work, a bluebird flew by and rested on the back porch. I’m no bird watcher, but I couldn’t deny that this beautiful bird looked almost out of place in our little backyard. I had never seen a bird like it in our area.
When I turned around, I almost jumped out of my skin to see my Grandmother an inch from my face. “Geez, Grandma!” My fear quickly turned to laughter as I chuckled, “Granny, you nearly scared me half to death! Are you feeling any better?” She still had that scared and angry look on her face. It was almost as if… “Hey, grandma…” I said nervously. “You know who I am, right? It’s me, Paul. Your grandson.” Quietly, she said without taking her eyes off me, “There’s someone in the house.” A feeling of awful guilt spread over me as I told her, “No, Grandma, you know me. I live here with you, remember?” Her anger turned to disappointment. She leaned closer to my face and, in a hushed tone, whispered, “No, Paul. I know who you are. I am telling you that there is someone in our house.”
My heart sank, and the guilty pit in my stomach became a sinkhole of fear. “Where?! Grandma, where did you see this person? My God, are they still here?” I instantly believed her, as I always have, but then, for a moment, I thought, Is this the disease? Is she seeing things now? I dont remember the doctor saying anything about hallucinations. I pushed the thoughts out of my head. Whether she had imagined it or not, a possible break-in is not something to take lightly. I reached for my phone to dial 911, but my grandmother put her hand on mine before I could unlock it. “He’s in my room.” She said it almost as if it was an afterthought. My heart raced, and without thinking, I picked her up and shuffled towards the front door. Once outside, I sat her on the porch bench. “Stay here,” I said. She wasn’t looking me in the eyes. Instincts took over as I rushed back into the house. I ran up to her bedroom. The door was shut. I went to reach for the handle, but I stopped. Adrenaline had gotten me this far, but it seemed to run dry when it came time to investigate. I’m not a big man, nor am I trained in any form of self-defense. What would I even do if I found someone in there? I thought. But I needed to make sure that we were safe.
I slowly turned the knob and pushed my way inside. Everything looked normal, other than a bit of clutter. Hadn’t I picked up her room the night before? I checked under her bed and in the closet, but there was no sign that anyone had been there. I felt relieved and almost smiled at how worked up I’d been. That feeling soon left me as I remembered the master bathroom with its door still shut. With my last bit of courage, I flung the door open, but what I saw didn’t scare me. Actually, it was really confusing. The walls, the mirror, the floor, all of it. It was all covered in a black sludge. The smell reminded me of the many hot summer days I spent walking the empty road as a kid. It was the smell of tar. “What the hell?” I said audibly. After standing in shock for what must have been 5 minutes, I checked the rest of the house but found nothing.
I walked outside to find Grandma still on the bench. Her attention had turned to a small pile of ants on the concrete. “Hey, Grandma, I checked the house. There’s no one there.” She didn’t reply. “Did something happen in the bathroom? Where did you even get the tar?” Still no reply. I wasn’t totally convinced that there had been an intruder, but I also wasn’t totally convinced my Grandma had made the mess herself. Sure, she had trouble with basic household tasks and could have gotten confused, but where did the tar come from? The rest of the day passed by pretty quickly. Grandma hadn’t said a word to me since the incident, but honestly, I didn’t really have time for conversation anyway. Cleaning the tar was nearly impossible. It took me well into the afternoon to clear away the black stain. The tar was warm to the touch initially but soon completely dried, making it hard and resistant to my efforts. I resorted to scraping it off with a putty knife.
I didn’t even realize what time it was when I heard a knock at the door. Jane! I ran to the door and opened it to see her face beaming at me. She was obviously relieved to be off work and ready to enjoy a night in with my grandmother and me. I, on the other hand, was a sweaty mess from clearing the tar. “Jane! I am so sorry I lost track of time and forgot you were coming over.” She looked disappointed and said, “Oh, sorry. Do you want me to leave? I should have texted to remind you I was coming.” “No! Please come in. I’m sorry. I just feel bad that I haven’t showered or made dinner or anything. I’ve been so busy today. You won’t believe what happened this morning.” She stepped in and said, “Can’t wait to hear all about it!” She always sounded so cheerful. It was one of the things I loved most about her. “How’s Grandma doing?” she asked. “It’s been a bad day for her today.” She knew what I meant. I had often confided in her about Grandma’s previous “bad days,” she knew from interacting with Grandma how quiet and off she could seem when her mind wasn’t at its best. “Aw, Granny,” she said, turning a sympathetic face to Grandma. She really did love my grandma.
We ordered Chinese food, and I told Jane about the day’s events. “That’s so weird!” she said between bites of orange chicken. “Where do you think she got the tar?” “I dont know. I’m not even 100 percent sure it was her. I mean, who knows, maybe someone was in our house. I did notice a few things out of place, but it doesn’t seem like we’ve been robbed.” we sat silently for a few seconds. The tar was a mystery to both of us, but we turned our attention to the black and white film we had put on for Grandma, and soon, the night started to feel like any other. When the movie ended, I tucked Grandma into bed. Jane and I turned on a show with actual color and fell asleep cuddling on the couch.
Day 2: Monday
My alarm woke me up at 5:55 AM. I looked at my phone, puzzled that it had happened twice. Before I had time to go back to bed, a loud bang from upstairs startled me. I was on my feet in an instant. This sound was much louder than the one the day before. I barreled up the stairs and peered into Grandma’s room. She was asleep. Stepping back into the living room, I found the same scrapbook on the floor.
I was thoroughly freaked out at this point and started turning on all the lights. Once the room was well-lit, I opened the scrapbook. A sinister feeling crept into my bones as I flipped through page after page. Every picture that included my mother had been ruined, her face cut from each photo. I called the police, and the operator said they would be there as soon as possible. I was convinced that there had been someone in the house. While waiting for the police, I woke up Grandma and walked her out to my car, where she sat while I looked the house over. In the 6 minutes it took for the police to arrive, I noticed a drawer open in the kitchen (the one where we keep ziplock bags, tin foil, and saran wrap). I also found more black tar in the the bathroom, as well as in the garage.
The police walked through the house, checking every possible place a person could hide. They told me they didn’t find anyone and that there was no evidence of forced entry. “Sounds like someone might be looking to hurt your mom, seeing as her face was cut out of all the pictures.” said the older-looking officer. “Well, if someone had it out for her, they had the wrong house. We haven’t seen her in nearly 10 years.” I replied. The officers offered to check up on us later tonight to make sure there wasn’t anyone lurking around the property and said to call again if there were any further disturbances. They didn’t even acknowledge the tar everywhere, which was frustrating, but they probably couldn’t make any more sense of it than I could. “Thanks, officers,” I said. I ushered Grandma back into the house as they pulled out of the driveway.
Throughout the whole ordeal, she had been absolutely silent. “You alright, Grandma?” I asked. No response. We stepped into the living room, and I was helping her sit on the couch when I noticed something out of the corner of my eye. I turned to face the kitchen window. That same bluebird from the day before was staring right at me. The bird was so beautiful, but looking at it, I couldn’t help but feel like I was in some sort of danger. It continued to stare for a few moments and then flew away. The day dragged on. Grandma hadn’t said a word; worse, she hadn’t even looked me in the eyes. I was worried for her but tried to talk to her as if everything was fine. I didn’t want her any more upset than she seemed to be already. Communication can be so difficult when our loved ones get old.
The sun dipped over the horizon, and suddenly, it was night. Jane had asked to come over, but I turned her down. I was starting to feel in over my head, and I didn’t want to dump my baggage on her. Finally, it was time to put Grandmother to bed. As I helped her get comfortable, she looked at me. It was a welcomed surprise, and I smiled at her, but she didn’t smile back. She only whispered the words, “Someone is in the kitchen.” Ice went down my spine. “What? Grandma, we were both just in there, and I didn’t see anybody.” She looked terrified. Obviously, my words were of no comfort to her. She just repeated again, “In the kitchen…the kitchen…kitchen.” Then she rolled over, closed her eyes, and stopped speaking. She was really starting to make me worried, and I really couldn’t decide whether to believe her or not.
I left the room and headed for the kitchen. Upon arrival, I didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary right away. Other than the drawer with the bags and wrap, it was open again. I turned to walk out and turned the light off, but the room didn’t get dark. I flicked the switch on and off, but the room remained illuminated. In fact, it was getting brighter. Panicked, I did the first thing that came to my mind and reached for the big knife in the knife block, but I froze when I noticed the knife block was empty. Sweat washed over me, and I saw all the knives in the sink. The room continued to illuminate brighter and brighter as I dashed for a knife and cut myself on one of the smaller blades before finally grabbing hold of the bread knife. My attention briefly turned to my bloody hand as I attempted to wrap a rag around the wound.
Just then, the room went completely quiet, and I saw it. A large figure, maybe 8 feet tall. The creature was completely naked except for a plastic film - saran wrap, covering it from head to toe. The light emanating from the figure seemed to give me tunnel vision, blurring my surroundings. I couldn’t make out the face, as it was completely masked in the plastic wrapping, but there was a protrusion where the nose was underneath. Petrified, I felt my blood run cold. I always thought of myself as brave, but at this moment, I was so scared that I was physically unable to move. The dread filled me like molasses in a glass, slowing my thoughts. I dropped the knife, which crashed to the tile floor with a metallic clang. I wanted to run, but my legs felt like stone. I stared in horror at the bright monster, and just when I thought it might attack, it began to speak.
“Fear not, sweet boy,” its voice sounded frail and weak as if trying to convince me I was safe. It reminded me how an old person might talk to a child, almost mimicking their innocent tone. It continued to speak, “Sweet Paul. Sweet…Paul.” “Who are you?” I managed to say in a shaky voice. “Sweet Paul, I am your guardian angel. Your guide in the darkness. Your friend from above.” I wasn’t convinced. An angel? This thing looked demonic. It was the stuff of my nightmares. “Okay…well, I’m good, actually. I don’t need a guardian angel.” The angel began breathing heavily, and in a much deeper voice than before, it said, “Yes, my sweet boy. You do.” Just then, the knives in the sink flew straight up in the air and stuck into the ceiling. The noise startled me, and I turned to see the knives dangling. With my eyes briefly off the creature, I immediately heard footsteps running toward me. I screamed and turned back to face the monster. Raising my arms to shield my face, I braced for impact, but…it never came.
I opened my eyes to a dark, empty room. It was gone, and I was all alone. I quickly flipped on the light and grabbed my phone to call Jane. It went straight to voicemail. She must be asleep, I thought. With no one to talk to, I paced around my room until exhaustion took its toll, and I went to bed.
There’s so much more that I want to share about this week, but I am a little busy dealing with the fallout, and I’m mentally exhausted. Ill try to post soon about the rest. Until then, I’ll leave you with some advice. When your elderly grandmother tells you there’s someone in the house, believe them.