Posting this online because I’m feeling lonely and might die soon. And I don’t really have anyone else to tell…
So, first of all, to understand the house that’s giving me trouble, I should probably explain that there’s like a second house inside my house. What I mean is that, when you open up my attic, instead of open space – which I was hoping for, because I needed a place to store my supplement backstock (I sell men’s vitamin supplements that help performance anxiety) – there was an entire ranch-style home up there.
My OG house that I bought a couple months ago is one of those pretty big single homes in a suburb outside of Detroit. I’ll call it the “over-house,” and it sits on top of a hill, which is cool because none of the other homes on the block sit on a hill. That’s why I bought it. Kind of felt like I was higher than everyone else, but paying the same amount of money. Seemed like a good deal at the time.
Then, when I explored the attic (for supplement space), I found what I’ll call the “inner-house.” Here’s another reddit post from a few years ago where someone else found a similar thing in their house.
The inner-house was actually in great condition, maybe even better than outer-house. There was a living room with a fireplace, kitchen, two bedrooms, and one full bath. It was all skeleton space though. No furniture or utensils or sheets or even wall stuff. The wallpaper had been stripped clean with a bunch of scribblings everywhere.
I couldn’t make out anything on the wall. It all looked liked scribbles to me. Chicken scratch. The one phrase I made out was “See you soon.” I thought maybe the last guy just used the wall as his diary before he ended up blowing his brains out and making the property value plummet.
I called my real estate lady and told her the situation. She basically said “Big whoop, looks like you copped an even sweeter deal. What are you complaining about?” Then, all serious like, she said I should sell it, and sell it soon. She could get me a great rate and, with the second home in there, I’d profit because of this and that and I ended up just hanging up on her.
I thought that I DID luck out on an even sweeter deal, like she said, but I didn’t completely trust her, She just wanted more money for me and, in the past, when someone tries to sell you that hard, it’s because they smell a ripoff opportunity.
But boy was I wrong! I should have listened to her.
Following the overall house-logic, I wanted to check the attic of my inner-house. When I went up there, though, everything looked different. There was, like, a welcome mat there. It said “WELCOME MATT.” My name is Matt. But, that’s not even the spooky part – the spooky part is that I used to have this same doormat. I thought it was funny because a.) it’s a pretty good pun and b.) my name is Matt. So, it worked two-fold.
My first thought was “This is spooky.” But then, after thinking a little, I thought maybe this was a sneaky move on my real estate lady’s end. She wanted to spook me, then I’d sell. Anyone could’ve known my name is Matt, then got this. She probably still has a key to the place. I’m lazy and did not change locks, which – yes – I know is a dumb move.
When I go inside, the whole place looks furnished. There’s a shabby leather couch. The kitchen has a Geroge Foreman Grill and colorful set of Japanese knives. The Ikea black dining room table doesn’t fit the room at all, but it’s there. It’s all there.
The place looked exactly like my last house.
I kept stepping inside. I couldn’t believe this shit, but I kept stepping inside. At the time, I thought it was a sick move on the real estate lady’s part. But how would she know all of this layout?
Then, there was the bedroom. I stepped inside and nearly shit my pants.
Something was under the covers on the bed. Like a human shaped lump. Kinda like the lump that was in my throat when I saw it move.
I jumped the fuck into the closet as fast as I could. I didn’t care about noise or my heavy breath or all the shit I was knocking over in there. I needed to get out, but I couldn’t go back in there with those sheets moving. What if there was a vagrant off his meds just waiting to take his day out on me in there? Because he thought I was going to kick him out of my inner-house?
I looked up and saw my escape route: the attic.
As soon as my full body was hoisted up through the attic slit, I snapped that shit close. There was definitely some rustling from below, but, after a few moments, the coast seemed clear. That’s when I looked around the attic.
It was empty. Bare. Except in the middle of the wood floor was an elevated platform – above all the pink fluffy insulation and beam bearings. On the platform, I saw a model of a house. It looked like outer-house.
Of course I went over to take a close peek. It was so weird, when I held it, it kind of felt like I could see myself seeing myself holding it. Kind of like when you hold a mirror up to a mirror, then put your hand in the middle and see infinity hands. I don’t know how else to explain it.
Here I am, staring at myself staring at myself, when – all of a sudden – one of me turns around.
I look at me, and smile this big, shit-eating grin.
I Just keep looking. Keep smiling.
Those eyes, though, they weren’t my eyes. They were black.
That wasn’t me. That was an “it.”
“It” scared the shit out of me, if I’m being honest.
And so, I dropped the house.
Then, I blacked out.
When I woke up, I was back in my normal bed of the outer-house like nothing ever happened. And – I swear I’m not a crazy person – the inner-house was gone. Instead. All my supplement packages were sitting up there. There was a lot of them, because my business hasn’t been doing too well, but that’s beside the point.
I called my real estate lady to ask whatsup, and she said that she never remembered our conversation about the inner-house. Like, she was acting as if we’d never discussed it.
Fine. Whatever. I was ready to move past it. This was all a month ago.
But then, this morning, I got a letter in the mail. No return address. Name in the address line said “WELCOME MATT.” Inside were a bunch of photos of the inner-house… with me in them. I didn’t remember taking any of these pics.
Then I got to one with me in bed. It was weird, because I saw two of me in the pic – one scared me in the background jumping into the closet, and one other me in the bed. Staring directly into the camera. With a big, shit-eating grin. It’s then when I noticed the eyes.
“It”s eyes. Not my eyes. This was the thing that smiled at me.
And, sure enough, on the back of the last pic, written in the same chicken scratch that I first found all over the inner-house’s walls, was the message, “See you soon.”