Fuck. I made a mistake. A big fucking mistake. If you didn’t see my last story about my grandmom’s basement, [here]( https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/1avhfnl/the_basement/) is the link. Or for now anyway… I’m strongly considering deleting the story and my whole account… just pretending none of this ever happened. Not that I think it will make a difference now.
I had no intention of making part 2. There shouldn’t be one. This story should be said and done.
“Oh maybe if I write about what happened it’ll bring me some kind of healing and I can finally move on from being a 30 year old who sleeps with the lights on!”
I’m a fucking idiot.
My apologies in advance that this story will likely be less theatrical and well written than my first, my brain is trapped in a fresh trauma haze. Or maybe it’s just because I haven’t slept in what feels like a lifetime now. I’m not sure how to process what happened. I feel lost. I don’t know what else to do besides just get it out of my head onto paper so I can make sense of all this.
Anyway, enough rambling, let’s just get into what happened.
Not long after I posted my first story I got a call from my mom. She told me that my grandparents old house was back on the market and since my grandparents have both passed, she really wanted to go and take a stroll down memory lane with me. That house had been part of her life since she was born until they moved so I could sympathize with her wanting to go back. I could tell by the emotional tone in her voice when she asked me to come with her this was really important to her.
I thought to myself that maybe this is a sign from the universe that it’s time to go back and confront my fears. I’d just written a story about it, so maybe this was the last piece of the puzzle I needed to fully heal. I had this grand plan of how I’d stroll down into the basement with all the confidence in the world, see nothing down there, conquer my fears, and finally move on with my life. It felt like the stars were aligning for me at the time.
But right now I really, REALLY wish I’d chosen to interpret this differently.
My mom set up a plan with the realtor to let us take about an hour to explore the house again just the two of us at 2pm the next day. We decided to make a lovely little day out of it. We went out to lunch together and were having an amazing time checking out my mom’s old neighborhood before the appointment. She told me all kinds of great stories about the kind of crazy things she used to do as a fun little hippy chick growing up in the 70’s and things about my grandparents I’d never known.
But that’s not what you’re here for, are you?
When we stepped into the house it was amazing how similar it still looked. A few of the rooms had been painted and had new carpeting, but no structural changes had been made so it still felt like my grandparents’ old house.
My mom and I spent a good while just walking around and reliving various memories of how the house used to look at different points, fond memories we had with my grandparents, my mom’s stories of her and her brother’s childhood shenanigans… we were having such a great time I didn’t even feel a tinge of fear about the basement below us.
Finally as it was getting closer to the end of our allotted time, I worked up some courage and asked my mom if she would come down into the basement with me to face my fears head on. She looked nervous.
“You’re not worried about reliving what happened to you? You were shaken up for months- years- after that happened. I didn’t think you’d ever want to set foot down there again after that.”
“I don’t really want to,” I sighed heavily looking towards the entrance to the basement, “But I think maybe it would be a healing experience to go down there and see it as just a plain old, empty basement.” My mom looked a little uneasy, but she agreed.
I took the flashlight out of my bag and headed down the stairs with my mom following close behind me. The basement seemed the most different out of anywhere else in the house. It still smelled like dust and mildew, but new shelves had been put up, the old work bench and fridge were both gone, and mostly everything had been cleared out except for a few random items here and there. I’d never seen it so empty. One thing that was still the same was the pull cord lights. Looking at them made me deeply uncomfortable. The memories were slowly creeping into the forefront of my mind, but I shook it off as best I could.
It’s in your head. You have to stop being like this.
The basement was well enough lit since it was midday (really didn’t even need the flashlight honestly but it made me feel safe) and the sun was shining in through the windows, but I decided to click the light on anyway. It felt like it needed to be part of the process of freeing myself from all of this.
Click.
The sickeningly familiar hum of the light instantly brought back flashes of the last time I was down here, so I quickly turned it back off.
Just then I heard a loud thump from behind me.
My mom and I both jumped.
I could hear my heartbeat pounding out of my chest.
But it wasn’t the thump of some creature lurking in the darkness.
It was the thump of a book falling off the shelf on the other side of the basement.
We exchanged weirded out glances at each other before cautiously walking over to look at it.
The book was simple looking. It was an old, dark brown, leather-bound journal with a matching string to tie it shut. There were random corners of pages sticking out all over the place like it wasn’t completely bound together. It didn’t look to have any dust on it, which was unusual since all the other books on the shelf it had fallen from were covered in a thick layer with a few cobwebs hanging off them.
I could see the spot from where it fell- there was a gap dead in the middle of the other books. The other surrounding books were just regular books you’d see at a library. A few romance novels, a couple books about old cars, maintenance and repair manuals for old appliances… There was nothing particularly special about them, which made this one seem even weirder.
My mom and I again exchanged concerned glances at each other. There was no reason for this book that was in the middle of a shelf that backed up to a wall to have fallen off. It wasn’t like it fell off the end, it came out of the middle of the other books. There weren’t any places for things to be hiding in the darkness right now but that did little to ease the tension in the air.
As I looked at the book, I started to feel a powerful urge to pick it up come over me. Did this book have answers? Did someone want me to read something in this? What if it was a sign from my grandmom or something?
“I think maybe we should go back upstairs,” my mom said as I started leaning down to pick up the book. That snapped me out of the momentary trance I was in. After all I’d been through, was I really STUPID enough to pick up mysterious, creepy books that just fall by themselves? What the hell was wrong with me? Was I really about to engage with whatever fuckery was going on in those most traumatic place in my life?? I was becoming the person in a horror movie everyone always calls an idiot. The kind of person I’d call an idiot.
“Yeah I think that’s probably a good idea,” we left the book on the ground where it fell and quickly headed out of the house and got back in the car. Our allotted hour was almost up anyway by that point.
On the car ride back to my mom’s house, I felt horrible that my plans to conquer my fears had completely ruined the mood of the trip. We drove in silence for a while before I finally spoke up, “so what the fuck do you think that was about?”
My mom didn’t turn to look at me, “I don’t know, babe. That was weird.” She seemed off but I couldn’t place my finger on what was going on with her. I could tell she was deep in thought the rest of the car ride. I made a couple attempts to bring up happier memories again but my mom wasn’t getting back into the way she had before still. She’d smile and nod and add a few short sentences here and there, but I could tell it wasn’t the same.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” I sighed heavily, “I didn’t think anything weird like that would go on in the basement. I thought I’d just look at it, realize it’s just a basement, and then I’d be good.”
“It’s not your fault,” she finally looked at me again sympathetically, “You didn’t make that weird book fall off the shelf or anything. How would you have known?”
“Known… what?” There was something weird about the way she said it.
She paused for a long minute, “Just that a random book would fall off the shelf and scare us, I mean. You know I’m not a fan of being scared.”
“Yeah, I know, but that was so fucking weird, right?” I really wanted my mom to give some explanation of why that happened but she didn’t, “There was no draft, there was no one else in the basement, it was in the MIDDLE of the shelf. Like what the fuck??”
“It really was. I have no genuine, rational explanation for what happened,” I did feel like my mom was telling the truth when she said that.
“Mom… You remember what happened to me there… did anything like that ever happen to you when you lived there?”
She paused before sighing, “I guess I can tell you now that you’re an adult. I never wanted to bring it up when you were younger because of what you went through.”
My mom went on to explain that when she was a teenager hanging out with her friends, her door flung open so hard it ricocheted off the wall and no one was there. Her brother swears up and down to this day it wasn’t him. Then she told me one night she had awoken in the middle of the night to a tall, dark, lanky figure standing just past the end of her bed just staring at her. She said she felt completely paralyzed with fear. She gathered the courage to raise up her hands and make the sign of the cross at it and then it just vanished. She moved out not long after that, but she said she never saw it again.
I wasn’t sure if there was any connection to what had happened to me in the basement, but it was definitely really strange and disturbing. I could hear the familiar lump of fear stuck in her throat while she recounted the story that I had writing the first one I posted. I wanted to press her for more information, but I felt like I’d done enough damage for the day. I really didn’t want this to ruin an overall pleasant day with my mom.
Eventually, we shook off the weird vibes and enjoyed the rest of our day hanging out together, but it stayed in the back of my mind.
That night I had a nightmare.
I was down in the dark basement and it looked like it had when I was a child. There was only one light on and it was the one closest to where the shelves had been when we were just there. The noise of the light instantly made me painfully uncomfortable. The noise made my head feel like it was being swarmed by wasps. I hate that sound.
I walked over and saw the only thing on the shelf was that leather bound book. When I got close to it, the book flung itself open revealing pages after pages of scribbled writing in a language I didn’t know and drawings. Drawings of what I saw all those years ago. A horrible, tall, pale, bloodshot eyed monstrosity.
I wanted to get away but I didn’t feel like I had any control over my body.
The drawings seem to vary in level of skill. Some where rough drawings like you’d expect to see from a really small child. Others were drawn in great detail clearly by an at least somewhat professional artist. I reached a hand out to touch the book and it slammed shut.
Just then I felt an icy cold, bony hand death grip onto my shoulder.
I didn’t want to turn around, but I did…
And there it was.
In all of its horrifying glory, just as it had been when I saw it as a child.
It spoke in a distorted, two-toned voice. It sounded as if someone was talking in a rough but high, whispery voice overlaid with someone saying the exact same words at the same time in a much deeper, almost staticky (for lack of a better word to describe it) voice. It sounded like someone’s voice being played over a radio instead of just someone talking to you directly. That might not make sense, but I’ve never heard anything like it to compare it with.
I KNEW YOU’D COME BACK FOR ME
Its mouth never moved but it felt like it was screaming those words directly into my brain.
I’ve waited ssssoooooo long for you, GatorSwampWitch.
I knew you’d never forget about me. You are special, aren’t you.
Lots of people are full of fear, but there’s something about you….
The way it paused when it said fear was similar to the way you might pause thinking of a cherished memory… or maybe your favorite food. Its mouth stretched farther open, showing its horrible needle-sharp teeth.
Even as an adult there’s something about how deep your fear runs… your fear of me…. that is just so… mmmmmm sssssatisfying
It turned its head a little bit too far to the side, seeming to eye me up and down. Then it showed the first expression of genuine emotion I’d ever seen on it- pure, furious rage.
You didn’t take my book….. I GAVE it to you.
YOU wanted answers.
I have given them to you.
Don’t you DARE disrespect me that way.
You have no idea what I can do.
Suddenly I returned to consciousness. I was standing in my bedroom facing the dark empty hallway of my own home. My breathing was shallow and shaky as I looked around wildly expecting to see that thing standing behind me somewhere.
And then my eyes met it.
There was the book.
Sitting in the middle of my hallway being illuminated by the small nightlight I had there.
It looked like someone had placed it there intentionally. Open.
I wanted to slam my door shut and scream but I felt a powerful compulsion to go towards it.
I felt like I had no choice anymore.
It was never going to leave me alone no matter what, why not look?
What more did I have to lose?
I stood over the book and looked at the open page. There was a drawing of the creature.
My drawing. I drew it shortly after the incident as a child and threw it in the trash immediately after, but there it was all wrinkled up and attached to the page. On the other side of the page was a bunch of script I wasn’t familiar with. There were strange symbols and crude sort of drawings around the writing.
I unintentionally gasped as the pages began flipping wildly as it had in my nightmare. It abruptly stopped on a page that read:
“ONCE IT HAS YOU, IT WILL NEVER LET YOU GO.”
Just below that was written in almost illegible handwriting stained with what looked like tears:
“If you are reading this, may God have mercy on your soul…
He has abandoned me. Maybe He has abandoned us all.”
I felt like I’d been hit by a freight train. I slowly backed up into my room not wanting to take my eyes off the book or turn around. I knew nothing good was going to happen next. I tried everything in my power to not feed into this. Not to be afraid… but that’s really easier said than done, isn’t it.
Then I heard it.
The deep raspy groan followed by the sounds of its horrible body popping and crackling as it moved behind me. I felt all the color drain out of my face.
But then that same powerful form of self-preservation took ahold of me as it had when I was a child. I turned around to face it and began to yell, “FUCK YOU. YOU ARE NOTH…”
I was yelling at nothing- except my very confused partner who was now awake and looking at me with justifiable concern and confusion, “What the hell?”
“The book!” I whipped around to show him but there was nothing there. I was fucking losing it. Had I still been dreaming until just now? Whether I was being stalked or just losing my fucking mind, I knew I was in trouble.
I sat down on the bed next to my partner and buried my face in my hands, “I think I’m losing my grip on reality.”
He sat up and talked to me for a little bit. I explained the dream, the book, what happened at my grandparent’s house… I wanted so badly for him to give me some rational explanation for this. I wanted someone to give me answers and comfort me that all of this made sense somehow.
My partner leaned over and hugged me tight putting his head against my shoulder, “I’ll never let you go.”
“What did you just say?” I felt the pit in my stomach come back full force as he started holding me more forcefully. I tried to push back to look at him but he tightened his grip harder. Much harder.
“I said. I’ll. Never. Let. You. Go.” The voice wasn’t my partners anymore. I felt the warmth of his embrace go cold. I looked down at the shoulder I was being pressed against and it wasn’t my partners. It was an all too familiar pale, bony, deathly cold shoulder of that fucking thing. I tried to struggle and get away but the harder I struggled the tighter its grip became. It was holding me so tight I thought maybe it was trying to absorb me into it.
You should have listened to your instincts about monsters in the dark, GatorSwampWitch.
And now…..no one will believe you.
No one is coming to help you.
Everyone will think you’re going insane and lock you away… just like the others.
And even then, I will have you.
I will ALWAYS have you.
NOTHING can keep you from me.
“What the FUCK do you want from me!?” I tried again to escape its embrace but I felt so much weaker than I’d ever felt before. I felt the life was draining out of my body as the grip holding me continued to become stronger. I tried to move my hands to make the sign of the Cross like my mom did, but I couldn’t move. I felt like I was being pressed against dry ice. It was becoming hard to breathe. I was starting to feel like I might lose consciousness at any moment.
“I want YOU,” It hissed. It felt like its words were inside my brain- clawing and tearing it apart from the inside out. I continued to try with all I had left to struggle but I felt my body going limp.
This is it, I thought to myself. This is how I die.
I was prepared to accept my fate and let go of hope when I heard glass shattering and a bright light suddenly filled the room.
“What the FUCK!?!” It was my partner.
I heard a loud, furious hiss of a groan and then suddenly felt my body released from the grip of death itself. The thing just vanished into thin air before either of us could process what just happened. I turned to look at my partner who was standing next to the light switch with his jaw on the floor.
I’d never seen him look like that. He’s an almost annoyingly rational person, and he certainly didn’t get scared easily. The kind of guy who laughs during horror movies because of how ridiculous he thinks they are. All around the floor in front of him were shards of glass from the glass of water he’d dropped when he saw it. He quickly jumped over the glass and ran to me, holding me tight.
I almost wanted to push him away after what had just happened, but I knew this was him for real this time, “Do I call the police?? What the FUCK!?! Are you okay??? You’re so pale and cold. Do I need to get an ambulance!?!?” He pushed back to get a good look at me. I didn’t know what I looked like but I could tell by the look on his face I was in bad shape. He was clearly terrified for me.
After some discussion he did end up taking me to the ER to get me checked out. My body temp, heart rate, and blood pressure were all “distressingly low”, or so they told us. All the nurses and doctors were whispering around me and giving me looks of concern and shooting my partner weird, judgmental looks.
I had deep purple and blue bruises where the creature had been holding me. They nurses informed me I also seemed to have fairly severe frostbite in some places over the bruises. My skin looked like it was becoming necrotic where it touched me.
I imagine if my partner hadn’t been as attentive and so distraught looking, they might have assumed he did that to me. They asked me a lot of questions but I kept my answers as vague as possible. I said I woke up like this and that was all I knew. My partner followed suit when questioned. I wasn’t about to get myself locked up in a mental hospital for telling the truth. I’m sure even if my partner attested to what we saw, they would have called it a shared delusion.
I mean… what person in their right mind would believe any of this? I don’t even know if I believe it and I’m the one this happened to. My brain felt like it was full of static and far away, I couldn’t form any real thoughts. I’m still struggling with that. My brain just kept flashing between images of that thing, the feeling of it draining the life out of me, and its awful fucking distorted voice.
They made me stay overnight so they could work out the best treatment for my wounds. Thankfully my partner stayed and they let me keep the lights on in my room since it was just me… but it did very little to make me feel safe. Neither me nor my partner slept at all that night.
Nothing felt safe.
Nothing feels safe. As I’m writing this, I’m sitting with my back jammed up against the wall and every light on in the house. I’ve started hoarding flashlights and any other kind of portable lights. I’ve putting them all over every inch of the house.
I don’t think I’ve really slept since this happened. I’m trying to figure out how to attach a super bright flashlight directly to my skin or something. I’m at the point where I’d cut off my hand to replace it with a flashlight if that was an option… or pump myself full of radioactive material until I’m lit up like the 4th of July. Anything would be better than feeling like this.
The parts of my skin where it touched me haven’t healed at all as far as I an tell. They told me I might need a skin graft where it’s the worst, but I doubt it’ll matter.
Nothing matters anymore.
The only things I know for sure now are that whatever that… thing is, it doesn’t like the light… and I don’t think it’ll ever leave me alone… It’ll always be waiting for me to slip up and step into the darkness again. I worry that even if I die without seeing it again, it’ll be waiting for me on whatever is on the other side of this life.
If it does come for me again…. I don’t think I’ll be ”lucky” enough to be telling you the story of what happens.
I’m running out of time; I can feel it.