He should have seen it as he backed out. He would have seen it, but he was too busy. Too busy yelling back at me in one of our frequent arguments. He was so engaged in it that he didn’t see the 1,800 lb truck coming down the road on his side. So engaged that he didn’t see it until it was crumpling his half of the car, with him still in it. That was the last time I ever argued with my dad, or even talked to him And it was all because I had forgot to put the milk away after practice. My dad died on May 18, 2007 when I was 14, and a day hasn’t passed that I haven’t blamed myself.
The insurance money ran out in about two years, and my mom had to quit her waitressing job and we had to move to a another house, which suprisingly was very cheap for its size. So in 2009 we moved to a small town in Virginia. From the start I had a strange feeling, for one, the realtor had said that nobody had lived there for 20 years, but the basketball hoop (the only thing I liked about the house) had “Men’s Big Dance 2006” Written down the side of the pole. This kind of weirded me out, but I dismissed it as the realtor trying to appeal to a family with children.
But then strange things began to happen. I would feel like someone was watching me, and when i would wake up late at night to go to the bathroom I would almost see a face in the window through squinted, sleep covered eyes; but if I got up close enough it would be gone. Then one evening I was looking through my fridge and when I closed the lid, a man with cuts and blood covering his whole body was standing beside me. I screamed out and jumped backwards; I tried to grab the counter top to stop from falling but only grabbed a pile of dirty plates, bringing them down with me onto the ground. But when I looked up, he was gone. I decided to google the houses history, and strangely it said that the previous owner was caught trying to kidnap a woman, and was arrested and sentenced to 25 years in prison, but he had escaped an was never found, this kinda gave me the creeps but I thought nothing of it.
Then, one day I was out shooting hoops when I noticed a spot of blood on the pavement. I quickly checked to see if it was me that was bleeding but it wasn’t. A few yards away I saw another spot of blood, and a few yards from that was yet another. I followed them to a pile of leaves by the side of the house. Underneath was what appeared to be a hidden trapdoor. My mom said that there was a basement somewhere and that it was probably old and dirty. I assumed she meant the previous owner had left a few stains on the carpet or had left some piles of dirty laundry, but what I found was older and dirtier than I had expected.
But I’m getting ahead of myself.
I opened the trapdoor and found a ladder, i climbed down onto a staircase. The first thing I noticed was that the light was on in the stairs leading down to the basement. The second thing I noticed was that the stairs going down to the basement were just cemented down, turned over cinder blocks. The third thing I noticed was the floors I expected to be stain covered carpets were really just dirt floors. I also noted that the walls were old falling apart bricks, and the ceiling was brick and wood, but roughly 90% was probably pure spiderwebs. I ran back upstairs and got a flashlight, as there were no more lights past the “stairs”.
When I returned I saw that the basement was more of a hallway with two rooms on each side of it. I first turned to my right and went in. In the middle of the room was a long moldy wooden support beam, like the kind you would see in an old mineshaft. On the beam was markings. Very sloppy chicken scratch kind of markings. It looked somewhat like: T|- || |_ - i / <=_. I realized it was some sort of language, then realized again it was English, dust covered English. So I brushed at it and removed a thick layer of dust, it read: Tell Linda I love her. A chill went down my spine and I felt again like I was being watched. I paced around the room thinking about what I had saw.
As I paced I kicked at a bump on the floor, then realized I was kicking a fallen support beam. It was within reaching distance of the other beam. I saw some more chicken scratch and brushed away revealing a longer message. It read: As I sit here, sure I am dying, I have nearly excepted it. I no longer fear what is coming, and with this absence of horror, I feel I have lost everything. For when a dying man no longer has fear, what has he left?
Now I was scared. I tripped on something I at first thought was a snake skeleton wrapped around the beam. But it was a chain. A chain connected to a rock shaped like a half of a very large spider. The rock was next to a pile of leaves, which covered the edge of the rock. I chuckled at the thought of someone chaining up a rock. The phrase petrock came to mind and I thought the previous owners must have been pretty lonely. Then it occurred to me, and I was right. I brushed away the leaves in horror and I was unfortunately right. The spider rock connected to a longer rock and the longer rock connected to a shoulder and the shoulder connected to a chest. But this was as much as I uncovered before staring in horror at the still decomposing body I had found. But the worst part was that he was wearing the same clothes as the man I had seen around the house.
I heard a shuffle behind me and spun around as fast as I could. And that’s when I saw it. A large hole was in the wall. About four ft by four or five ft. With a ladder going down it. Emanating from it was a eerie glow of a lantern or maybe a fire. And holding onto the ladder was a small bald man with a crooked smile, missing a few teeth, but the rest were dark yellow and blackened. He was the man who would watch me through the windows, the man who I would barely see at night when I awoke to go to the bathroom. Not the man I saw by the fridge, for he was laying on the floor beside me.
I turned and tried to run, but he leapt out and tackled me down, with a strange amount of force for a man of his size. My head hit the wall hard and I must have blacked out. For a few minutes later I awoke chained to the standing support beam. With nothing but a phone with no bars (never had bars, our house was a ways into the woods) and 4% battery left. I had 49% when I started typing this, but I feel this may be my last communication with the world. So tell my mother I love her.
And before I stop typing, I must ask you something. As I come closer to my end I no longer feel the fear I felt when I saw the body and the man. But this is what makes me wonder, with the absence of horror, what else does a dying man have?
—
Credits to: photofreecreepypasta
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