Something follows me around my basement, and it’s finally gone upstairs.
I’ve always told my friends that my house is haunted. It used to be a joke. Used to be. My basement has always had an odd feeling to it. It makes weird noises, the temperature fluctuates constantly, and then there are the “echoes.” Sometimes, when I walk around, I hear someone - something walking right behind me. I assumed it was echoes at first, but it never happened on a consistent basis. Regardless of the numerous, perfectly rational explanations for what could be causing the footsteps, it creeped me out so much I began a ritual of sprinting up the stairs, throwing open the door, and shutting it behind me as fast as I could whenever I heard them. Thankfully, they never followed me up.
Until last week.
My neighborhood was experiencing a power outage at night due to high winds, and my phone was about to run out of charge. I remembered a battery charger I’d stored in the basement after a hiking trip. Now, I wasn’t thrilled about having to run downstairs in the dark, but I was bored and didn’t want my phone to die. At first, everything was fine; I was rummaging around looking for my charger, getting frustrated with myself for not remembering exactly where I’d put it. The wind was raging outside, so I didn’t hear them at first.
The footsteps were walking on their own, and they were coming towards me. As they got louder, I was alerted to their presence and forced myself to turn around. Nothing but darkness. I bolted upstairs, with the footsteps close on my trail but slightly out of sync with my own. It sounded like a heartbeat. Thump, thump. Thump, thump. I made it to the top, opened the door, and slammed it shut behind me. I heard something bang into the wood, followed by footsteps getting fainter. It had gone back down. I breathed a sigh of relief, “fuck that shit.” I moved a chair under the doorknob just in case.
A couple of days ago, I decided to invite some friends of mine over to stay the night. We’d been watching old paranormal shows and, wanting to conduct our own investigation, I offered up my basement. I hadn’t been back since the power outage. We bought a temperature reader, spirit box, and headlamps, as well as brought our own cameras and flashlights. Looking back, it was certainly overkill and a little ridiculous, but the humor of it eased my fears of returning to the basement. I wanted my house back.
Two of my friends stayed upstairs and the other three went down into the basement with me. We were cracking jokes in the lead up, but it was clear that the mood was tense. I moved the chair out from under the doorknob, and we carefully opened the door and peered inside. Everything looked normal. I let out a sigh. At least the thing hadn’t trashed my stuff. Slowly, we all made our way down the stairs. We left the lights off and used flashlights to see in front of us. After about half an hour of fiddling with the temperature reader and the spirit box and getting no significant results, we were about to call it a night. That was until we realized our mistake.
We had left the basement door open.
We hadn’t heard from the two friends we’d left behind since we entered the basement, but we were so caught up in our investigation we hadn’t even noticed. The four of us practically threw ourselves up the stairs, calling their names the entire way up. They never responded. We made our way up, only to find an empty room. Our friends had disappeared entirely. No screams, no loud noises, nothing.
The police never found them. Every few days another person goes missing. In the lead up to their disappearance, some of the victims reported hearing footsteps behind them. Every time they appear they get louder. Please, lock your doors and, if you ever hear something walking right behind you, run.
I’m sorry.