There was chaos as the luggage bounced down the path and the car doors slammed in quick succession. Everyone was yelling and yelling names, talking about things and laughing, but it was all mixed in with one incredible chaotic experience. The little boy was up at the top of the staircase holding onto his stuffed bear watching people unload their vehicles and wondering if anyone would call him. No one did.
Suddenly, everything went silent.
Then came the sound of the front door being closed and of the vehicle starting and moving away.
At first, the silence felt so peaceful.
When he finally made his way down the stairs, darkness crept up behind him. Every step he made created a creaking noise. Without people around, the house looked so much more massive and spacious. When they all left, the walls expanded far beyond what they could have only imagined. He shouted just to see if anyone was home.
“Mom?”
Nothing.
A grin spread across the boy’s face; now he could do what he wanted to do.
He went to the freezer, opened the tub of ice cream, and ate it all without regard to how it looked. He had crumbs all over the couch while the cartoons blared at full volume, He jumped on the bed, put on his father’s jacket, and pretended to be tall. The house was willingly cooperating with him. Every light would turn on when he told it to, and every door would open without hesitation.
As the sun set, my home felt different. You know how houses make noise? Like pipes and stuff? So when I heard something fall from upstairs, I didn’t freak out, I just muted the TV.
There was another noise—I swear it was someone’s fingers rubbing along a piece of wood, but really quietly.
“Hey,” I said, sort of joking but really anxious.
Everything went silent after that.
I thought the noises were just a figment of my imagination until I stood up and saw that the overhead hallway light was flickering like a bug trapped in a jar. Maybe for a split second, but it seemed like it went on longer than normal.
I walked down the hallway, it seemed longer than it was in the light and there was a ton of shadows on the wall.
Nighttime came fast!
There were now no more lights outside my windows, just my house reflected back at me. I looked into the mirror and I looked weird—no color in my face, dark eyes, like someone standing behind me. I turned to see who it was!
Nothing was there.
I locked all the doors, and still could feel the house peering down on me.
Then I heard footsteps coming from above me.
They were different from the random creaks of the house—they were purposeful and heavy: step, pause, step, pause.
His heartbeat was pounding against his chest and felt heavy as he creeped back into the kitchen where he had a flashlight in his hands and they were so sweaty he could barely hold on. The footsteps stopped at the top of the stairs.
From the top of the stairs, he heard someone whisper.
It wasn’t words, just breathing; it was just way too close and he felt way too much awareness.
He ran down the hall.
He found a place to hide in the laundry room with his knees to his chest and shaking with the flashlight in his hands. The sound of the washing machine was overwhelming in the silence and he had to put his hand over his mouth to try to stop sobbing.
The lights went out.
The whole house went dark; it was dark like something in the air. The flashlight flickered, then settled down. The dim light showed him the laundry room door opening slowly in front of him.
It was opening slowly without making a sound.
It didn’t creak.
It didn’t hurry.
It was waiting for him.
The hallway was bending in front of the open door; it was bending more than it should have been. At the end of the hallway, he could see a figure; it was tall, skinny, almost not human. It had its head tilted like it was listening; it could feel his heart beating.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
By the time he opened his eyes again, everything had returned to normal in that long hallway.
He crawled away from there (thinking the whole thing was just his imagination), because fear can do some pretty crazy stuff to a person.
Climbing the stairs carefully, he called out for his parents, although in the back of his mind he knew they were gone.
His toys were perfectly lined up on the floor of his bedroom.
He had not left them that way.
The door to his closet was wide open and blackness flowed like ink pouring out of it onto the floor. A chill ran down his spine and formed frost on his breath.
Then he heard a voice coming from inside the closet, soft and familiar, “Why did you leave me?”
He was crying as he replied, “I didn’t leave you, I didn’t mean to.”
Slowly the shape emerged from the blackness and took form as it stepped into the light. The way it looked at him, it had this flat, smooth face with really deep set eyes and a cold smile on its lips.
The figure said, “You’re not alone, you never were.”
He yelled.
As soon as morning arrived, it was very peaceful.
The house was flooded with sunlight and it was warm to the touch without any danger.
The family came home from a long night out, and the front door opened, and they all came in laughing, exhausted, and were totally clueless about what had happened. They each thought the house was in perfect condition.
There were no lights broken. No doors were left open.
There was only the boy’s teddy bear lying at the bottom of the stairs with its button eyes looking up at him. And there’s something inside the house that was listening, waiting patiently for the next time he would shut the door.