It was a normal evening for me alone at my family’s home.
My parents and sister were away as usual, leaving me alone to clean the house. I always took great pleasure in cleaning.
The gradual transformation of the floor from dirty to clean, the subtle “swish” sound the broom would make as I’d brush the floor with it, the podcast or music I would pop in the background…
It was as pleasant as it was simple.
As I was cleaning the entrance to the house by myself, I noticed noises coming from upstairs.
I thought it was just the little birds outside pooping and making noises, as they often do… But the noises kept coming… and they started to increase in their volume…
I would lie if I said I didn’t gulp or shiver a bit as I grabbed a knife just in case, and headed upstairs.
The dreaded noises kept getting louder and louder… It sounded as if a person was literally stomping his foot up there against the floor…
As I kept heading up the stairs… fear has gotten the better of me.
As I got back down, the dreaded stomping noises were still there, but I kept my focus on cleaning.
When my parents and sister got back home, I chose to not tell them of those noises I heard, as by this point they were gone.
I thought to myself as I headed to bed: “Relax, Derek… you’re just tired… it’s been a long day… you just imagined it… yeah… you just… just… imagined it…”.
As I’m recalling this story, I can confidently say now, I lied to myself.
The next day, this time, it was my sister who was the only person home.
My sister would both prove to me that I did not imagine the noises, and that I… most definitely… was right when I chose to not head upstairs…
As I came back home, the house was awful quiet. I checked every room, and couldn’t find my sister.
I eventually and grudgingly chose to climb upstairs…
There are moments that I like to call “dreamy”. Moments so different to what you’ve experienced so far, that you may just think in the moment that you’re dreaming
As I got upstairs and found my sister, I started hoping. I started praying to god that this was one of moments.
It wasn’t.
As I stared at the ugly sight of the beheaded corpse of what was my sister, I could only cry and scream to god to end this nightmare.
As of the writing of those lines, God has yet to end this nightmare.
After what seemed like hours of crying, praying, and vomiting, I ran downstairs.
As the police investigated the crime scene, they gave me a piece of paper they found in her mouth.
It read in my sister’s blood:
“Your fault”
I was very shaken up as one would expect, but… it wasn’t due to my sister’s death…
It was due to the relief I felt from her death…
After that, the noises from upstairs stopped.