This story is a fictional story that I wrote while bored.
I wasn’t sure if I wanted to share this experience, but here we are. I am writing this from my brother’s perspective as he told me this the day before he passed away. It is very distressing, so please be aware.
It was two o’clock in the morning. I was sleeping in my room upstairs like I usually did. The rain from outside was trickling down my window. The window was slightly open, letting small gusts of wind move my curtains lighty as I slept deeply. It was very peaceful and quiet, but that silence was about to be broken.
As I slept, I heard a loud thud from outside my room. I immediately shot up, startled by the noise. I looked in front of me where the door was. It was closed. I turned my head to the left where my window was and noticed that it was open, so I figured the noise was probably just the wind having some effect on my house, so I went back to sleep.
As I drifted away into a deep sleep, I heard another loud thud. I once again shot up from my bed and this time decided to investigate. I got up from my small bed and walked two steps to my desk. I turned on the desk lamp and put on a pair of jeans I had laying on my chair the day before. I opened my door and peeked outside. There was nothing there. I turned to the left and walked down the stairs. As I was walking on the carpeted staircase, I heard the same thud again. This time it was even louder.
I noticed that the sound was coming from my right, so I quickly got downstairs and went to my poorly-lit kitchen. Once again, there was nothing there. “Probably just a rat…” I thought. That thought quickly turned out to be wrong, however. As soon as I turned around, I heard the exact same thud again. Twice. “Okay, no way in hell that this is a rat,” I mumbled to myself. Angrily I started walking to my front door, but was cut off by the exact same sound. This time, however, I noticed that it came from my basement door to the right. It was now continually repeating itself over and over.
I was now starting to get kind of scared. You never know when an intruder has broken into your house, so I genuinely thought that it was a burglar. Just in case, I quickly went upstairs to get my crowbar. After picking up the heavy thing I went back downstairs, ready to face whoever was in there.
“I have a weapon, so don’t think I’m any scared of you, you fuckers!” I yelled as I kicked open my door, crowbar in hand. I took a swing with my crowbar, thinking that there was someone on the other side. Instead of hitting someone, I almost fell down the stairs with the weight of the crowbar. I catched the railing, stopping myself from falling. I got back up, staring into the darkness of the basement.
I was filled with dread. Knowing that there was nobody else in my house except me, I was genuinely terrified. It’s probably about time that you know that I don’t believe in ghosts, or at least I used to not believe in them. This occurrence made me reconsider my beliefs as this was literally the creepiest thing that has ever happened to me. Sure, I’ve had similar experiences in the past. For example there was that one time where I heard loud banging on my front door, but it turns out that it was just ding-dong-ditchers.
With that aside, I made up my mind and went about halfway down the stairs where the lightswitch was. I flicked it, but nothing happened. There was a short moment of silence, only to be broken by what sounded like glass. Glass breaking, to be exact. I darted up from the staircase, ran up to my room and grabbed my flashlight on the desk. I ran back downstairs and… I wish I could unsee what I was about to see.
There was blood. Blood on the staircase, blood that was fresh… I was frozen. Breath held, eyes wide open. I couldn’t speak for a second, but then… I heard a blood curdling scream. A scream so loud I’m pretty sure it woke up the entire neighbourhood. I had never heard a scream so loud as I did that very moment. Immediately my instincts kicked in.
I jogged down the staircase to the basement to figure who it was that most likely needed help, when all of a sudden, the screaming stopped. I stood there in silence, before turning around only to see the door to the basement closing behind my back.
“Oh fuck, no, no, no, no, no!” I exclaimed while running up the stairs. When I got up it was already too late. The door was closed and locked. I started banging on the door, screaming for help, but of course nobody responded. I was alone, remember?
I cried out for help for a solid two minutes or so, thinking that maybe there was someone at the otherside. I realised that I was alone, so sat down at the staircase with my head in my hands, wondering how I was to escape. I sat there thinking, when all of a sudden I smelled something. It smelled awful, almost like rotten meat. This horrible smell was stinking up the entire basement and almost making me vomit, so I needed to go find the source.
I plugged my nose and turned on my flashlight. I slowly walked down the creaking steps and looked around. There were a few empty boxes and trash around, but nothing out of the ordinary. It wasn’t until I looked down that I realised where it came from. The blood stains from the steps continued and formed what somewhat resembled a trail, leading to a box. As I approached the box the smell got more and more horrible, so I knew it was coming from that box.
The box was taped shut with a note on the top of it, which read;
You are not alone
And you are next
Don’t try to run
Don’t try to resist
I was confused as to what this cryptic poem could mean, so I opened the box to find out. That quickly turned out to be a mistake, however. I have never gotten so disturbed as I was about to in my life.
To my horror, there was a rotting decapitated head inside of a bag. I yelled in horror, closed the box and darted back. I backed into what I thought was just some trash, but oh boy was I wrong. As soon as I backed into what I thought was a pile of trash, I noticed something moving on my body. It almost felt like an arm, slowly gliding up my stomach to my mouth, almost as if it was trying to keep me from talking. My eyes widened as a second arm slowly crept up my stomach and this time to my throat.
Someone or something was holding a knife towards my throat. I couldn’t move, speak or breathe. I was frozen in fear and… I couldn’t remember much after.
The last thing I remember was feeling a cold pain on my throat, feeling a liquid running down my neck after. The next thing I know I’m in a hospital bed connected to all this machinery, fighting to survive.
My brother died the following day after telling this horrifying story. I will never forget the last words he said to me; “Go find that motherfucker and kill him. Make it painful.”