11:42
One.
11:42pm.
I keep my blinds closed all the time.
11:56pm.
I know, I know. It makes me sound like some sort of hermit. I guess I am, now, but it’ll be hard for to understand unless I start from the beginning. You’ll probably think I’m crazy, or that I’m just making this up, but I have to write it down. The internet is full of stories like these, or stories of events that happened to your best friend’s girlfriend’s sister’s friend, or something ridiculously removed from you that the facts can easily get confused. But this ... this is coming from me, first-hand. I’m the person this is happening to, and I’m telling you what’s going on. These are the facts as I remember them and regardless of how you may feel, I know that it’s true. I apologize whole-heartedly as well, as I’m not sure what effect my telling you this will have upon your own lives. You have a choice to turn back now – I wouldn’t blame you. But if you do chose to continue on I thank you for it. I need to tell someone. I can’t do this on my own anymore.
I live in a bungalow with two other people, friends from way back in high school. It’s a nice place, warm, comfortable, not too large. It’s perfect for a group of kids just out of college. However, strange things have been happening. It started with the footsteps in the hall at night. All of us assumed that it was simply one of the others going to the bathroom, but eventually, when the noise started to annoy us to the extent that we brought it up, it came to light that none of us had been leaving our rooms. Armed with this knowledge, the noises took on a more sinister tone in the dead of night, and I would lie awake in bed listening to the steady thud of the steps up and down the hallway outside, wondering what could possibly be causing them. One night it sounded as though the footsteps were in my very room, pacing around next to my bed, and I lay completely still for what must have been an hour before they finally stopped. The next morning my housemate asked us if one of us had been in his room that night. He claimed to have seen a shadowy figure standing in the corner by his desk and wondered if one of us had been pulling a prank. However, me and our other housemate had both been in bed – too scared to move because of the heavy footsteps thudding around our rooms.
After this incident the house became sinister. There was always something that seemed slightly off about it – heaters turning themselves off and on, lights failing, unexplained pockets of cold in rooms that were usually nice and warm. Sounds still disturbed the peace at night, but after a while we began to grow used to it. No harm was coming to us, and so we just joked that we had a cheeky ghost who had moved in with us and enjoyed messing us around. For a long while, it was nothing more than that. Strange events were laughed off or discussed light-heartedly and the footsteps at night became so normal that we could all easily fall asleep even when they could be heard clearly.
Things took a turn for the worst about a week ago. The first indication of things getting more serious was when I climbed out of the shower to find the bathroom door wide open. After quizzing my housemates, I discovered one had been in the kitchen eating and the other had gone out the store. After that, doors, even when they were locked, would open by themselves. The front door was terrible for doing this and you would walk out of your bedroom door to a blast of icy air from the gap made by the wide open front door. This door was always locked when we were inside and was heavy, made of wood. You needed to give it a huge shove to open it, yet it seemed to open by itself completely silently.
Shortly after the doors began to seemingly develop minds of their own, I was sitting in my bedroom on my computer. It’s on a desk in front of my window and I have a nice view, especially when the sun is setting, of the trees and hills that make up the landscape outside. I was daydreaming, procrastinating, if you will, when I saw a shadow move across the window from the outside. It grabbed my attention immediately and filled me with a sense of dread, and I became obsessed with it from that exact moment. I saw it flitting past several times that night, and judging by the yell of annoyance and shock from my housemates, they saw it too.
Now we come to the reason as to why I always keep my blinds closed. You may think it’s because of this strange shadowy figure, but the shadowy figure was a blessing compared to what I saw that night. I was getting ready for bed, the house strangely silent, almost as though it were waiting for something. I leaned over my desk, reaching for the string to pull the blinds closed, when I became aware that there was a face pressed against the glass on the other side of the window. Not a normal face, either –it was deathly pale, and its grin seemed to split its entire head in half. The teeth were sharp and triangular and it was hairless and slightly wrinkled. I couldn’t see a body that the head was attached to, and I let out a yelp and yanked the blinds closed to violently that I nearly broke them. My cry alerted my housemates and I tried desperately to explain to them, but I refused to let them open the blinds. I guess they thought that I was dreaming, but God, I’m certain it’s still out there.
12:19am.
I can hear it even as I sit here and type. I can hear its raspy breathing even though it appears to have no lungs to have use for this, and I can hear a scratching sound as though it’s scraping nails down the glass, though I saw no hands, either. If I squint through the material of the blinds I can see its wide mouth in a grin, turning into a snarl. It knows I’m writing about it.
12:23am.
I don’t think it’s at the window anymore.
12:26am.
It’s definitely not at the window anymore. I can’t sense it there, but the cold draft coming from under my bedroom door lets me know the front door is open. I can hear footsteps.
12:32am.
Something’s clawing at my bedroom door. God, I’m typing so fast because I need to get an account of this down. I am so sorry that you’re the one who has to read this. I really am. I know I said I wasn’t certain what would happen but I can’t help but think this is something to do with the similar story I read months ago. It sounds stupid but why else would it single me out and not my housemates?
12:39am.
I can feel its breath on my neck. Oh God, please help me. Don’t let it get me. Please, God, I don’t want to die, I don’t want to go through this anymore, oh, God, plea
12:41am.
FOUND YOU.
I keep my blinds closed all the time.
11:56pm.
I know, I know. It makes me sound like some sort of hermit. I guess I am, now, but it’ll be hard for to understand unless I start from the beginning. You’ll probably think I’m crazy, or that I’m just making this up, but I have to write it down. The internet is full of stories like these, or stories of events that happened to your best friend’s girlfriend’s sister’s friend, or something ridiculously removed from you that the facts can easily get confused. But this ... this is coming from me, first-hand. I’m the person this is happening to, and I’m telling you what’s going on. These are the facts as I remember them and regardless of how you may feel, I know that it’s true. I apologize whole-heartedly as well, as I’m not sure what effect my telling you this will have upon your own lives. You have a choice to turn back now – I wouldn’t blame you. But if you do chose to continue on I thank you for it. I need to tell someone. I can’t do this on my own anymore.
I live in a bungalow with two other people, friends from way back in high school. It’s a nice place, warm, comfortable, not too large. It’s perfect for a group of kids just out of college. However, strange things have been happening. It started with the footsteps in the hall at night. All of us assumed that it was simply one of the others going to the bathroom, but eventually, when the noise started to annoy us to the extent that we brought it up, it came to light that none of us had been leaving our rooms. Armed with this knowledge, the noises took on a more sinister tone in the dead of night, and I would lie awake in bed listening to the steady thud of the steps up and down the hallway outside, wondering what could possibly be causing them. One night it sounded as though the footsteps were in my very room, pacing around next to my bed, and I lay completely still for what must have been an hour before they finally stopped. The next morning my housemate asked us if one of us had been in his room that night. He claimed to have seen a shadowy figure standing in the corner by his desk and wondered if one of us had been pulling a prank. However, me and our other housemate had both been in bed – too scared to move because of the heavy footsteps thudding around our rooms.
After this incident the house became sinister. There was always something that seemed slightly off about it – heaters turning themselves off and on, lights failing, unexplained pockets of cold in rooms that were usually nice and warm. Sounds still disturbed the peace at night, but after a while we began to grow used to it. No harm was coming to us, and so we just joked that we had a cheeky ghost who had moved in with us and enjoyed messing us around. For a long while, it was nothing more than that. Strange events were laughed off or discussed light-heartedly and the footsteps at night became so normal that we could all easily fall asleep even when they could be heard clearly.
Things took a turn for the worst about a week ago. The first indication of things getting more serious was when I climbed out of the shower to find the bathroom door wide open. After quizzing my housemates, I discovered one had been in the kitchen eating and the other had gone out the store. After that, doors, even when they were locked, would open by themselves. The front door was terrible for doing this and you would walk out of your bedroom door to a blast of icy air from the gap made by the wide open front door. This door was always locked when we were inside and was heavy, made of wood. You needed to give it a huge shove to open it, yet it seemed to open by itself completely silently.
Shortly after the doors began to seemingly develop minds of their own, I was sitting in my bedroom on my computer. It’s on a desk in front of my window and I have a nice view, especially when the sun is setting, of the trees and hills that make up the landscape outside. I was daydreaming, procrastinating, if you will, when I saw a shadow move across the window from the outside. It grabbed my attention immediately and filled me with a sense of dread, and I became obsessed with it from that exact moment. I saw it flitting past several times that night, and judging by the yell of annoyance and shock from my housemates, they saw it too.
Now we come to the reason as to why I always keep my blinds closed. You may think it’s because of this strange shadowy figure, but the shadowy figure was a blessing compared to what I saw that night. I was getting ready for bed, the house strangely silent, almost as though it were waiting for something. I leaned over my desk, reaching for the string to pull the blinds closed, when I became aware that there was a face pressed against the glass on the other side of the window. Not a normal face, either –it was deathly pale, and its grin seemed to split its entire head in half. The teeth were sharp and triangular and it was hairless and slightly wrinkled. I couldn’t see a body that the head was attached to, and I let out a yelp and yanked the blinds closed to violently that I nearly broke them. My cry alerted my housemates and I tried desperately to explain to them, but I refused to let them open the blinds. I guess they thought that I was dreaming, but God, I’m certain it’s still out there.
12:19am.
I can hear it even as I sit here and type. I can hear its raspy breathing even though it appears to have no lungs to have use for this, and I can hear a scratching sound as though it’s scraping nails down the glass, though I saw no hands, either. If I squint through the material of the blinds I can see its wide mouth in a grin, turning into a snarl. It knows I’m writing about it.
12:23am.
I don’t think it’s at the window anymore.
12:26am.
It’s definitely not at the window anymore. I can’t sense it there, but the cold draft coming from under my bedroom door lets me know the front door is open. I can hear footsteps.
12:32am.
Something’s clawing at my bedroom door. God, I’m typing so fast because I need to get an account of this down. I am so sorry that you’re the one who has to read this. I really am. I know I said I wasn’t certain what would happen but I can’t help but think this is something to do with the similar story I read months ago. It sounds stupid but why else would it single me out and not my housemates?
12:39am.
I can feel its breath on my neck. Oh God, please help me. Don’t let it get me. Please, God, I don’t want to die, I don’t want to go through this anymore, oh, God, plea
12:41am.
FOUND YOU.
♠ ♠ ♠
1) This story was inspired by true events occuring in my university accomodation, though of course some of it has been exaggerated for entertainment purposes. The house in the banner is my accomodation, taken by one of my housemates.2) The word house is smaller as a homage to one of my favourite books, House of Leaves by Mark. Z. Danielewski. I suggest you read the book to understand the terrifying implications this smple font difference hints at.
Thank you for reading, and goodnight.