The Rooftop Room - Reddit Horror Stories

The Rooftop Room - Reddit Horror Stories

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
The roof top room. I grew up in a two
story house in Buccaramanga, Columbia. The house was old, one
of those built in the seventies, with chipped tiles and
pipes that creaked at dawn. What always unsettled me about
that house was the roof top, a wide space that
you could only reach by a rusty metal staircase. My

(00:23):
dad used it to store tools, old wood, and things
nobody used any more. In one corner of the roof
top there was a small brick room with a metal door.
We never opened it since I was a kid. I
was told that it only held rubble and that I
better stay away because the hinges were rotten and the

(00:43):
door could follow me. I obeyed, but every time I
went up to hang clothes, I felt the weight of
that place, as if something behind that door was silently
watching me. As time went by, I grew up, moved
out to study, and only came back to my parents
house on week ends. One of those visits happened during

(01:05):
a strong storm. The wind tore off part of the
roof top's tin roof, and my dad asked me to
help him fix it. We went up together and while
he nailed down boards. I couldn't help but notice the
door to the little room. It was slightly open, just
a few centimeters. My first thought was that the storm

(01:26):
had moved it, but something made me freeze. From inside
came a strange smell, like dampness mixed with rusted iron
and something else, a sweetish scent I couldn't identify. I
stepped a little closer, and at that instant I heard
a muffled sound, as if something was dragging inside. I

(01:48):
jumped back, my heart in my throat. My dad saw
me and shouted for me to stop wasting time. I nodded,
but all day I couldn't get that noise out of
my head. That night I couldn't sleep. At two in
the morning, I stuck up to the roof top with
a flashlight. The door was still slightly open. I pushed

(02:10):
it carefully, and the metallic screech echoed in the darkness.
Inside there were no furniture, no boxes, nothing, just the
stained cement floor and walls blackened by dampness. But on
the ground right in the middle, there were marks like
dragged imprints fingers traced in the dust, as if some

(02:34):
one had tried to crawl out. My legs started trembling.
I stepped back, turned off the flashlight, and slammed the
door shut. I promised myself I wouldn't go back up
there at night. Weeks later, I asked my m'am if
they had ever used that room. She gave me a
strange look and whispered, that room. It was built by

(02:59):
the Pree signers. They told us it was supposed to
be a workshop, but they never used it since we
moved in. Every time we tried to open it, weird
things happened. The light bulbs above would burst, or the
dogs would bark non stop. That's why we kept it closed.
I didn't want to keep asking, but every time I

(03:21):
visit my parents, I inevitably passed by the staircase that
leads to the rooftop, and always, always, if I stopped
for a second, I can still hear the echo of
that dragging, as if someone were still in there waiting
for someone else to open the door. All the way