March 8, 2025 • 25 mins
Moving into a new home should be exciting, but for these unlucky renters and homeowners, it quickly became a nightmare.🏚️ A dream apartment in New Jersey seems too good to be true. The quiet, eerie landlady never speaks, and soon, mysterious bumps in the night make it clear—someone, or something, is still in the apartment.🏚️ A young couple with a baby moves into an old home that sat unsold for years. At first, everything seems fine—until they uncover why no one ever stayed there for long.If you love real-life horror stories and unsettling true events, don’t miss these terrifying tales.🔔 Subscribe for more chilling horror stories!youtube.com/@talesfromthecreepshow
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Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:16):
They say rent in New Jersey is a nightmare, and
I thought I was lucky when I found that guest house.
Now I know better. Moving from Philly to a quiet
town in northern Jersey was supposed to be a fresh start.
The guest house was advertised as cozy, which was landlord's
(00:38):
speak for small, but nine hundred dollars a month with
utilities included sounded like a miracle. The landlord, Missus Cartwright,
was this tiny, wrinkled woman who seemed harmless enough, even
if she gave off weird vibes. She insisted on cash
(00:58):
for the deposit, gave me a lease that looked like
it had been written on a typewriter, and didn't ask
very many questions. At the time, I thought I'd hit
the jackpot. I was unpacking on my first day there
when I heard it, one clear, deliberate footstep right above me.
(01:22):
I froze mid slice on a box of kitchen utensils.
The box cutter slipped, and suddenly blood was pouring from
a gash on my palm. Cursing, I grabbed a towel
to wrap my hand, but my eyes stayed glued on
the ceiling above me. My new place was a small guesthouse,
(01:43):
just one level, and there shouldn't have been anything above me.
But for the time being, I was able to shake
it off and distract myself with unpacking. Over the next
few days, the place started feeling really off. I couldn't
really put it into words, but it just felt heavy
(02:07):
in my chest to be there. I tried to focus
on feeling more settled in. Missus Cartwright hadn't opened my
text that I sent her about trash pick up, so
I went and knocked on the door. Her house sat
about fifty feet from the guest house I was renting.
It looked perfectly normal, with curtains drawn, a few flower
(02:32):
pots on the porch, but she didn't answer. I glanced
around to her driveway and her car was there, so
I would assume that she was home, But after knocking
a few more times, I gave up. Maybe she was
taking a nap. A short while later, I realized that
(02:54):
she hadn't yet cashed my first rent check. At first,
I didn't care free rent who would complain, But the
more I thought about it, it just felt weirder and weirder.
Who wouldn't cash a rent check, especially from a brand
new tenant. I sent her another text just to make
(03:14):
sure it would be delivered, but she never replied. One afternoon,
I was unpacking the last few boxes in my bedroom
when I noticed something odd. Inside the closet, nestled against
the ceiling was a small, square door with a pull
string latch. It was barely noticeable, blending in perfectly with
(03:39):
appealing paint, and when I saw it, my stomach sank.
I told myself it was just an attic access door,
nothing unusual, but I still thought back to what I
heard on that first night. I grabbed a chair, stood
on top of it, and pulled the string. The door
(04:01):
creaked open, revealing a narrow, dusty crawl space above the ceiling.
The attic was cramped and stale. I found a single
light bulb dangling from the rafters and tugged it on.
The space wasn't big enough for someone to stand in,
but it was big enough to store things, and there
(04:22):
were things. A porcelain doll sat at the edge of
a beam, staring at me with its dark eyes. Near By,
a pair of tiny, worn out shoes looked like they
belonged to a child in the nineteen fifties, A stack
of books with their covers rotting away, leaned against the
(04:44):
far wall. It didn't look like anyone had touched the
stuff in decades. I climbed down, shut the door, and
tried to forget about it. But deep down I felt
like I had just disturbed something that didn't want to
be disturb The noises started again a few nights later.
(05:07):
It was past midnight when I heard it, a faint
thumping noise followed by the sounds of shuffling. I flipped
on the light and stared at the closet, and after
I finally found the nerve, I tiptoed over and silently
opened my closet door. I looked up and my chest tightened.
(05:30):
The attic door was open. It wasn't opened all the way,
just a crack, but that was enough to send my
pulse racing. I was sure that I closed it behind me.
I am absolutely certain of it. I grabbed my toolkit
and nailed the closet door shut. The next day, I
(05:53):
bought a heavy duty lock for both the front door
and the closet door. I told myself I was just
being paranoid, trying to comfort myself, I guess, but deep
down I knew better, I knew I wasn't alone in
that house. A few nights later, I had tried to
(06:15):
push the whole thing out of my mind, mostly successfully.
I met a young woman named Emily at a brewery
and we really hit it off. She laughed at all
my stupid jokes. She also loved horror movies, and she
wasn't put off when I told her about the small
guest house that I rented, so when I suggested heading
(06:36):
back to my place, she agreed. The night was going great,
wine and music and easy conversation. For the first time
in weeks, I felt like myself again. Eventually we started
getting handsy and we were making out. I think we
had both started to undress a little bit when she
(06:58):
suddenly shoved me away. She was pale, staring past me
toward the hallway. Ahem, Is this some kind of a joke?
I frowned. What are you talking about. It's bad enough
you didn't tell me you have a room mate, she snapped.
(07:18):
But the fact that you don't even care that he
was standing there watching us is sick. I turned so
fast I nearly knocked over the wine bottle, but the
hallway was empty. What what roommate I said, my voice cracking.
Emily was staring at me like I'd grown a second head.
(07:41):
I'm not blind or stupid. I saw him standing over
there by the closet. My blood ran cold. Emily, I
don't have a room mate. Her face hardened. Don't just stop.
She grabbed her purse and stormed out, leaving me standing
(08:04):
there staring at the locked closet door. I didn't sleep
that night. Every creak of the house made my skin crawl.
I tried to convince myself Emily had just been seeing
things that maybe the whine or the dim lighting had
messed with her perception, but I knew better. It was
(08:27):
around two a m. When the thumping noises started up again.
It sounded like faint footsteps overhead, and then they grew louder, heavier,
until it sounded like some one was stomping directly above me.
The sounds moved across the ceiling, back and forth, like
it was pacing angrily. My heart pounded in my chest,
(08:51):
and I reached for my baseball bat that I kept
around for security. Then it stopped, and for a moment,
the silence was worse than the noises, and then there
were three sharp deliberate knocks on the front door. I froze,
and the knocks came again, louder this time, bang bang bang.
(09:20):
I couldn't move. I just stood there, clutching the bat,
staring at the front door. I stayed awake until sunrise,
waiting for something else to happen. But the house was quiet.
The next morning, I packed up my things. I didn't
(09:41):
care about the lease, or Missus Cartwright, or whatever the
hell was in that attic or outside that door. I
was done. Missus Cartwright's car was still in her driveway
when I left. I didn't bother knocking on her door.
I didn't leave a note. I didn't care because she
(10:02):
never cashed my rent check. I stopped payment on it
as soon as I got to my bank. Now I'm
crashing on my best friend's couch, writing this to warn
anybody else who might think they found a deal on
a guesthouse in New Jersey. My mom was watching Jesse,
(10:27):
our newborn, and my wife and I were on our
way to see a house we hoped to rent. Mollie
was relocating for work, and we didn't have much time
to put things in order. I was excited for the change,
though a bit hesitant to pack up our lives and
move so quickly. The house was brick and fairly nondescript.
(10:52):
There were neighbors a couple hundred yards away on each side,
close enough to feel suburban, but far enough to feel
like everyone had as their own space. Molly pulled up
and parked along the curb, even though the driveway was clear.
We got out of the car, and as we walked
toward the house, a tall man with shaggy white hair
(11:13):
came out, shielding the sun from his eyes. He was
quiet and weak, and his name, he said, was mister Hart.
He was a little weird, but nice enough that we
brushed it off. He took us around the house, and
it was suitable for what we needed, but never something
(11:35):
I would have picked out if we had the choice.
As we finished the tour, mister Hart offered to give
us a few minutes alone. Molly had that look in
her eyes where I knew her mind was already made.
She insisted we should apply. If the approval came back
through in a week, we'd be able to move in
(11:57):
right after, and she'd only have to commute from our
old place for a few days. It did make sense,
I agreed and sat in the car while they talked
to details. When Molly came back, she was beaming where
already approved. She said, he just wants to get rid
of the place. He used to live here with his wife,
(12:20):
and when she died he couldn't stay without her, so
sad he hates showing the place. He was practically convincing
me we should take it. I already cut him a check.
I felt this was kind of odd, but I didn't
want to rain on the parade. We were free to
move in as early as the next day and would
(12:42):
take care of the paperwork later. When we arrived in
our truck, the house key was waiting for us under
the mat. A few days passed and we'd gotten everything in.
It was my first time being alone in the house
with the baby, with Molly at work. Laundry was in
the basement, and while the baby napped upstairs, I went
(13:04):
down to put a load in. The stairs came down
in the middle of the basement, and then you had
to take a sharp turn and walk all the way
towards the back to get to the washer and dryer.
Above them was this large fluorescent light encased in a
red plastic shield. And a metal grate. It basically looked
(13:25):
like an emergency light. I turned it on and it
omitted a deep, monstrous hum. Every corner of the basement
illuminated in a ghastly blood red glow. I couldn't imagine
what it was used for, but I certainly didn't need it.
I quickly turned it back off and threw the laundry in.
(13:47):
As I got to the top of the stairs, I
heard a click, followed once again by a deep, familiar hum.
I turned around, and sure enough, the basement was once
again glowing red. I took a breath and took the
first step, then the next. I probably didn't turn the
(14:10):
switch back off all the way, and the vibrations of
the laundry pushed the light back on. This logical thought
gave me the confidence I needed to round the corner
and return to the back of the basement, where I
flipped the light back off. Once again. The humming stopped,
and I stood in the quiet glow of a single
light bulb at the foot of the stairs. I looked
(14:33):
again to the red light and saw it had its
own plug. I followed the cord and yanked it from
the outlet. As I reached the top of the stairs,
I heard the hum again. Pins and needles ran through
my entire body. I closed my eyes, took a breath,
(14:54):
and turned around. The basement was glowing red. I took
one step down. What was I going to do? I
took the next The humming grew louder. I reached the
bottom of the staircase and turned towards the light. Just
(15:16):
as I confirmed with my eyes that it was still unplugged,
it snapped, flickered, and turned off. I stood there for
a moment, listening to my own breath, and then the
light came on again. I stepped towards it, and it
clicked off. I waited and took another step. It clicked
(15:40):
on again. I kept moving across the basement, and the
flickering grew faster and faster, the humming louder and louder.
The strobing made it almost impossible to see, and the
violent vibrations of the humming caused my head to throb.
I reached for the grating. When every light in the
(16:03):
basement went out at once, I ran as quickly as
I could, smashing into old boxes and furniture as I
made my way by the dim light bleeding down the stairs.
I climbed up on all fours and slammed the door
behind me, trying to catch my breath. I heard the
baby crying in his bedroom. When Molly got home, I
(16:28):
could tell that she didn't believe me, even though she
saw how upset I was. She went downstairs alone to
replace the bulb that had blown out. The red light
wouldn't work for her, even after plugging it back in
and flipping the switch. Still, she removed the grate and
took it down at my request. A few days later,
(16:52):
I'd almost forgotten about what had happened. I got a
little nervous doing laundry, but with the red light off
the wall, I was able to convince myself that Molly
was right. We were safe. Jesse was once again down
for his afternoon nap and Molly was working. I was
watching daytime TV and unpacking boxes when there was a sudden,
(17:15):
loud knock on the door. I turned the TV off
and wiped my hands, getting quickly to the door, but
there was nobody there. I hadn't seen any kids around
the neighborhood, but I don't know, I guess I assumed
it must have been a joke. I shut the door
and went back to the boxes. I was busy and stressed.
(17:38):
It was kind of easy to just put it behind me.
But then a little while later it happened again. I
rushed to the door without missing a beat, but once
again there was no one there. I stepped out on
to the front porch and took a long look in
each direction. No one. I went back inside and decided
(18:03):
to check on the baby. He was gurgling in the crib,
so I picked him up and walked around with him
for a bit before I sat down with him in
the rocking chair. Before I knew it, we had both
dozed off. Then came another knock, and it was loud,
but I was upstairs, far from the front door. How
(18:27):
could it have been? My heart sank as I realized
the sound hadn't come from the front door. The knock
had come from the bedroom door that I didn't remember closing. Molly,
I asked nothing. My heart was throbbing and my mouth
(18:50):
was dry. I gently put the baby back in his
crib and took a cautious step toward the door. Molly
suddenly came the loudest, most violent beating against the door.
I screamed and rushed to press the lock, falling to
my knees. I looked through the crack under the door
(19:12):
into the hallway, but there was no one there. I
stayed locked in that room with Jesse until Molly got home.
I was too scared to do anything else. Molly suggested
having my mother come stay for a few days, but
I knew I was ready to leave. She wouldn't hear it.
(19:34):
It's just the sounds of an old house settling, she said,
you'll get used to it. As always, she was able
to calm me down. I planned to start spending our
days away from the house, running errands or visiting the park.
The less time in the house without Molly, the better.
(19:56):
But not long after that, we were watching a movie
on them couch when we were both startled by a
large thud directly above us, like something heavy had hit
the floor hard. This was Jesse's room. Without saying a word,
we bolted up the stairs. We could hear the baby
(20:17):
shrieking as we opened the door. I expected Jesse's crying
to get louder, but it remained muffled. The bright moonlight
came through the windows, and the heavy antique curtains had
been torn down, left in a tall heap on the floor.
The crying was coming from inside the curtains. We threw
(20:39):
everything aside, digging towards the sound before Molly pulled Jesse
from the curtains. Thank God, he wasn't hurt, but it
was enough of a scare. Molly finally agreed she'd call
mister Hart tomorrow and discuss our options. The three of
us slept together in one room that night, with all
(20:59):
the lights on. The Next day, Molly was busy trying
to reach mister Hart and sort out missing a few
days of work, while I repacked the boxes that I
had unloaded. The baby never left my sight. Of course,
we cared about the money we'd be losing, but it
was more important for us to feel safe. I found
(21:21):
myself terrified to do anything in that house. We'd gotten
a moving truck and Molly planned to stay at a
hotel while Jesse and I went back home to my
mother's for a bit. Anything was better than that house.
Jesse needed his teething ring, which we'd left upstairs. I
(21:42):
didn't want to go upstairs alone, but I couldn't pull
Molly from the phone, and it would only take a second.
I grabbed a box of Jesse's things and stepped towards
the door, but tripped and fell hard, spilling baby clothes
onto the large throw rug that covered the original floors.
A few of the rooms had rugs like these when
(22:04):
we moved in. Somehow the rug had gotten bunched up.
As I bent over to fix it, I instead decided
to pull it up, walking backwards towards the center of
the room. In the middle of the floor was a large,
deep brown stain covering the floorboards, exactly where we'd found
(22:26):
Jesse the night before. I dropped the carpet and ran
down the stairs to get Molly, but she didn't acknowledge me.
She was staring at something confused. After a few moments,
she turned to me and handed me a check. The
check she'd written for mister Hart on the day we met.
(22:49):
It had never been cashed, it had never left the house.
Standing in the sun by the truck, I felt a
massive sense of relief, knowing I'd never have to go
inside again. As we loaded up the last of our things,
a neighbor we hadn't met yet made his way down
the street towards us. Never got the chance to come
(23:12):
introduce myself, and you're already heading out. I know, I'm sorry,
I said, we've had a last minute change of plans.
I was honestly surprised to see anyone come into the place.
beIN forward with you, he said. I asked him to elaborate.
His wife. She was old and sick, bedridden, but she
(23:36):
hated relyin on him for everything. She wanted to open
the curtains and let some light in, but she couldn't
reach him on her own. She pulled over a stool
and stretched for the corner. When her husband knocked on
the door. It scared her so bad, they say, she
fell face first toward the floor, smashed her whole face
(23:58):
in the worst part. Her husband somehow didn't hear a thing,
so he assumed she was asleep, and he went back
downstairs and made dinner while she bled out on the floor.
Do you know which room that was, I asked. She
(24:19):
had the room upstairs in the front of the house.
His eyes lifted to the windows of the room that
until to day had belonged to my infant son. I
felt sick. Thanks for telling me, I said that, poor
old man, it's so terrible. I just wish he had
(24:39):
mentioned all that to us. When we met him, the
neighbor looked back at me like I had lost my mind.
You couldn't have met him, he said. The night he
found her, he hanged himself in the same room. Mister
Hart has been dead for months. Must
They say rent in New Jersey is a nightmare, and
I thought I was lucky when I found that guest house.
Now I know better. Moving from Philly to a quiet
town in northern Jersey was supposed to be a fresh start.
The guest house was advertised as cozy, which was landlord's
(00:38):
speak for small, but nine hundred dollars a month with
utilities included sounded like a miracle. The landlord, Missus Cartwright,
was this tiny, wrinkled woman who seemed harmless enough, even
if she gave off weird vibes. She insisted on cash
(00:58):
for the deposit, gave me a lease that looked like
it had been written on a typewriter, and didn't ask
very many questions. At the time, I thought I'd hit
the jackpot. I was unpacking on my first day there
when I heard it, one clear, deliberate footstep right above me.
(01:22):
I froze mid slice on a box of kitchen utensils.
The box cutter slipped, and suddenly blood was pouring from
a gash on my palm. Cursing, I grabbed a towel
to wrap my hand, but my eyes stayed glued on
the ceiling above me. My new place was a small guesthouse,
(01:43):
just one level, and there shouldn't have been anything above me.
But for the time being, I was able to shake
it off and distract myself with unpacking. Over the next
few days, the place started feeling really off. I couldn't
really put it into words, but it just felt heavy
(02:07):
in my chest to be there. I tried to focus
on feeling more settled in. Missus Cartwright hadn't opened my
text that I sent her about trash pick up, so
I went and knocked on the door. Her house sat
about fifty feet from the guest house I was renting.
It looked perfectly normal, with curtains drawn, a few flower
(02:32):
pots on the porch, but she didn't answer. I glanced
around to her driveway and her car was there, so
I would assume that she was home, But after knocking
a few more times, I gave up. Maybe she was
taking a nap. A short while later, I realized that
(02:54):
she hadn't yet cashed my first rent check. At first,
I didn't care free rent who would complain, But the
more I thought about it, it just felt weirder and weirder.
Who wouldn't cash a rent check, especially from a brand
new tenant. I sent her another text just to make
(03:14):
sure it would be delivered, but she never replied. One afternoon,
I was unpacking the last few boxes in my bedroom
when I noticed something odd. Inside the closet, nestled against
the ceiling was a small, square door with a pull
string latch. It was barely noticeable, blending in perfectly with
(03:39):
appealing paint, and when I saw it, my stomach sank.
I told myself it was just an attic access door,
nothing unusual, but I still thought back to what I
heard on that first night. I grabbed a chair, stood
on top of it, and pulled the string. The door
(04:01):
creaked open, revealing a narrow, dusty crawl space above the ceiling.
The attic was cramped and stale. I found a single
light bulb dangling from the rafters and tugged it on.
The space wasn't big enough for someone to stand in,
but it was big enough to store things, and there
(04:22):
were things. A porcelain doll sat at the edge of
a beam, staring at me with its dark eyes. Near By,
a pair of tiny, worn out shoes looked like they
belonged to a child in the nineteen fifties, A stack
of books with their covers rotting away, leaned against the
(04:44):
far wall. It didn't look like anyone had touched the
stuff in decades. I climbed down, shut the door, and
tried to forget about it. But deep down I felt
like I had just disturbed something that didn't want to
be disturb The noises started again a few nights later.
(05:07):
It was past midnight when I heard it, a faint
thumping noise followed by the sounds of shuffling. I flipped
on the light and stared at the closet, and after
I finally found the nerve, I tiptoed over and silently
opened my closet door. I looked up and my chest tightened.
(05:30):
The attic door was open. It wasn't opened all the way,
just a crack, but that was enough to send my
pulse racing. I was sure that I closed it behind me.
I am absolutely certain of it. I grabbed my toolkit
and nailed the closet door shut. The next day, I
(05:53):
bought a heavy duty lock for both the front door
and the closet door. I told myself I was just
being paranoid, trying to comfort myself, I guess, but deep
down I knew better, I knew I wasn't alone in
that house. A few nights later, I had tried to
(06:15):
push the whole thing out of my mind, mostly successfully.
I met a young woman named Emily at a brewery
and we really hit it off. She laughed at all
my stupid jokes. She also loved horror movies, and she
wasn't put off when I told her about the small
guest house that I rented, so when I suggested heading
(06:36):
back to my place, she agreed. The night was going great,
wine and music and easy conversation. For the first time
in weeks, I felt like myself again. Eventually we started
getting handsy and we were making out. I think we
had both started to undress a little bit when she
(06:58):
suddenly shoved me away. She was pale, staring past me
toward the hallway. Ahem, Is this some kind of a joke?
I frowned. What are you talking about. It's bad enough
you didn't tell me you have a room mate, she snapped.
(07:18):
But the fact that you don't even care that he
was standing there watching us is sick. I turned so
fast I nearly knocked over the wine bottle, but the
hallway was empty. What what roommate I said, my voice cracking.
Emily was staring at me like I'd grown a second head.
(07:41):
I'm not blind or stupid. I saw him standing over
there by the closet. My blood ran cold. Emily, I
don't have a room mate. Her face hardened. Don't just stop.
She grabbed her purse and stormed out, leaving me standing
(08:04):
there staring at the locked closet door. I didn't sleep
that night. Every creak of the house made my skin crawl.
I tried to convince myself Emily had just been seeing
things that maybe the whine or the dim lighting had
messed with her perception, but I knew better. It was
(08:27):
around two a m. When the thumping noises started up again.
It sounded like faint footsteps overhead, and then they grew louder, heavier,
until it sounded like some one was stomping directly above me.
The sounds moved across the ceiling, back and forth, like
it was pacing angrily. My heart pounded in my chest,
(08:51):
and I reached for my baseball bat that I kept
around for security. Then it stopped, and for a moment,
the silence was worse than the noises, and then there
were three sharp deliberate knocks on the front door. I froze,
and the knocks came again, louder this time, bang bang bang.
(09:20):
I couldn't move. I just stood there, clutching the bat,
staring at the front door. I stayed awake until sunrise,
waiting for something else to happen. But the house was quiet.
The next morning, I packed up my things. I didn't
(09:41):
care about the lease, or Missus Cartwright, or whatever the
hell was in that attic or outside that door. I
was done. Missus Cartwright's car was still in her driveway
when I left. I didn't bother knocking on her door.
I didn't leave a note. I didn't care because she
(10:02):
never cashed my rent check. I stopped payment on it
as soon as I got to my bank. Now I'm
crashing on my best friend's couch, writing this to warn
anybody else who might think they found a deal on
a guesthouse in New Jersey. My mom was watching Jesse,
(10:27):
our newborn, and my wife and I were on our
way to see a house we hoped to rent. Mollie
was relocating for work, and we didn't have much time
to put things in order. I was excited for the change,
though a bit hesitant to pack up our lives and
move so quickly. The house was brick and fairly nondescript.
(10:52):
There were neighbors a couple hundred yards away on each side,
close enough to feel suburban, but far enough to feel
like everyone had as their own space. Molly pulled up
and parked along the curb, even though the driveway was clear.
We got out of the car, and as we walked
toward the house, a tall man with shaggy white hair
(11:13):
came out, shielding the sun from his eyes. He was
quiet and weak, and his name, he said, was mister Hart.
He was a little weird, but nice enough that we
brushed it off. He took us around the house, and
it was suitable for what we needed, but never something
(11:35):
I would have picked out if we had the choice.
As we finished the tour, mister Hart offered to give
us a few minutes alone. Molly had that look in
her eyes where I knew her mind was already made.
She insisted we should apply. If the approval came back
through in a week, we'd be able to move in
(11:57):
right after, and she'd only have to commute from our
old place for a few days. It did make sense,
I agreed and sat in the car while they talked
to details. When Molly came back, she was beaming where
already approved. She said, he just wants to get rid
of the place. He used to live here with his wife,
(12:20):
and when she died he couldn't stay without her, so
sad he hates showing the place. He was practically convincing
me we should take it. I already cut him a check.
I felt this was kind of odd, but I didn't
want to rain on the parade. We were free to
move in as early as the next day and would
(12:42):
take care of the paperwork later. When we arrived in
our truck, the house key was waiting for us under
the mat. A few days passed and we'd gotten everything in.
It was my first time being alone in the house
with the baby, with Molly at work. Laundry was in
the basement, and while the baby napped upstairs, I went
(13:04):
down to put a load in. The stairs came down
in the middle of the basement, and then you had
to take a sharp turn and walk all the way
towards the back to get to the washer and dryer.
Above them was this large fluorescent light encased in a
red plastic shield. And a metal grate. It basically looked
(13:25):
like an emergency light. I turned it on and it
omitted a deep, monstrous hum. Every corner of the basement
illuminated in a ghastly blood red glow. I couldn't imagine
what it was used for, but I certainly didn't need it.
I quickly turned it back off and threw the laundry in.
(13:47):
As I got to the top of the stairs, I
heard a click, followed once again by a deep, familiar hum.
I turned around, and sure enough, the basement was once
again glowing red. I took a breath and took the
first step, then the next. I probably didn't turn the
(14:10):
switch back off all the way, and the vibrations of
the laundry pushed the light back on. This logical thought
gave me the confidence I needed to round the corner
and return to the back of the basement, where I
flipped the light back off. Once again. The humming stopped,
and I stood in the quiet glow of a single
light bulb at the foot of the stairs. I looked
(14:33):
again to the red light and saw it had its
own plug. I followed the cord and yanked it from
the outlet. As I reached the top of the stairs,
I heard the hum again. Pins and needles ran through
my entire body. I closed my eyes, took a breath,
(14:54):
and turned around. The basement was glowing red. I took
one step down. What was I going to do? I
took the next The humming grew louder. I reached the
bottom of the staircase and turned towards the light. Just
(15:16):
as I confirmed with my eyes that it was still unplugged,
it snapped, flickered, and turned off. I stood there for
a moment, listening to my own breath, and then the
light came on again. I stepped towards it, and it
clicked off. I waited and took another step. It clicked
(15:40):
on again. I kept moving across the basement, and the
flickering grew faster and faster, the humming louder and louder.
The strobing made it almost impossible to see, and the
violent vibrations of the humming caused my head to throb.
I reached for the grating. When every light in the
(16:03):
basement went out at once, I ran as quickly as
I could, smashing into old boxes and furniture as I
made my way by the dim light bleeding down the stairs.
I climbed up on all fours and slammed the door
behind me, trying to catch my breath. I heard the
baby crying in his bedroom. When Molly got home, I
(16:28):
could tell that she didn't believe me, even though she
saw how upset I was. She went downstairs alone to
replace the bulb that had blown out. The red light
wouldn't work for her, even after plugging it back in
and flipping the switch. Still, she removed the grate and
took it down at my request. A few days later,
(16:52):
I'd almost forgotten about what had happened. I got a
little nervous doing laundry, but with the red light off
the wall, I was able to convince myself that Molly
was right. We were safe. Jesse was once again down
for his afternoon nap and Molly was working. I was
watching daytime TV and unpacking boxes when there was a sudden,
(17:15):
loud knock on the door. I turned the TV off
and wiped my hands, getting quickly to the door, but
there was nobody there. I hadn't seen any kids around
the neighborhood, but I don't know, I guess I assumed
it must have been a joke. I shut the door
and went back to the boxes. I was busy and stressed.
(17:38):
It was kind of easy to just put it behind me.
But then a little while later it happened again. I
rushed to the door without missing a beat, but once
again there was no one there. I stepped out on
to the front porch and took a long look in
each direction. No one. I went back inside and decided
(18:03):
to check on the baby. He was gurgling in the crib,
so I picked him up and walked around with him
for a bit before I sat down with him in
the rocking chair. Before I knew it, we had both
dozed off. Then came another knock, and it was loud,
but I was upstairs, far from the front door. How
(18:27):
could it have been? My heart sank as I realized
the sound hadn't come from the front door. The knock
had come from the bedroom door that I didn't remember closing. Molly,
I asked nothing. My heart was throbbing and my mouth
(18:50):
was dry. I gently put the baby back in his
crib and took a cautious step toward the door. Molly
suddenly came the loudest, most violent beating against the door.
I screamed and rushed to press the lock, falling to
my knees. I looked through the crack under the door
(19:12):
into the hallway, but there was no one there. I
stayed locked in that room with Jesse until Molly got home.
I was too scared to do anything else. Molly suggested
having my mother come stay for a few days, but
I knew I was ready to leave. She wouldn't hear it.
(19:34):
It's just the sounds of an old house settling, she said,
you'll get used to it. As always, she was able
to calm me down. I planned to start spending our
days away from the house, running errands or visiting the park.
The less time in the house without Molly, the better.
(19:56):
But not long after that, we were watching a movie
on them couch when we were both startled by a
large thud directly above us, like something heavy had hit
the floor hard. This was Jesse's room. Without saying a word,
we bolted up the stairs. We could hear the baby
(20:17):
shrieking as we opened the door. I expected Jesse's crying
to get louder, but it remained muffled. The bright moonlight
came through the windows, and the heavy antique curtains had
been torn down, left in a tall heap on the floor.
The crying was coming from inside the curtains. We threw
(20:39):
everything aside, digging towards the sound before Molly pulled Jesse
from the curtains. Thank God, he wasn't hurt, but it
was enough of a scare. Molly finally agreed she'd call
mister Hart tomorrow and discuss our options. The three of
us slept together in one room that night, with all
(20:59):
the lights on. The Next day, Molly was busy trying
to reach mister Hart and sort out missing a few
days of work, while I repacked the boxes that I
had unloaded. The baby never left my sight. Of course,
we cared about the money we'd be losing, but it
was more important for us to feel safe. I found
(21:21):
myself terrified to do anything in that house. We'd gotten
a moving truck and Molly planned to stay at a
hotel while Jesse and I went back home to my
mother's for a bit. Anything was better than that house.
Jesse needed his teething ring, which we'd left upstairs. I
(21:42):
didn't want to go upstairs alone, but I couldn't pull
Molly from the phone, and it would only take a second.
I grabbed a box of Jesse's things and stepped towards
the door, but tripped and fell hard, spilling baby clothes
onto the large throw rug that covered the original floors.
A few of the rooms had rugs like these when
(22:04):
we moved in. Somehow the rug had gotten bunched up.
As I bent over to fix it, I instead decided
to pull it up, walking backwards towards the center of
the room. In the middle of the floor was a large,
deep brown stain covering the floorboards, exactly where we'd found
(22:26):
Jesse the night before. I dropped the carpet and ran
down the stairs to get Molly, but she didn't acknowledge me.
She was staring at something confused. After a few moments,
she turned to me and handed me a check. The
check she'd written for mister Hart on the day we met.
(22:49):
It had never been cashed, it had never left the house.
Standing in the sun by the truck, I felt a
massive sense of relief, knowing I'd never have to go
inside again. As we loaded up the last of our things,
a neighbor we hadn't met yet made his way down
the street towards us. Never got the chance to come
(23:12):
introduce myself, and you're already heading out. I know, I'm sorry,
I said, we've had a last minute change of plans.
I was honestly surprised to see anyone come into the place.
beIN forward with you, he said. I asked him to elaborate.
His wife. She was old and sick, bedridden, but she
(23:36):
hated relyin on him for everything. She wanted to open
the curtains and let some light in, but she couldn't
reach him on her own. She pulled over a stool
and stretched for the corner. When her husband knocked on
the door. It scared her so bad, they say, she
fell face first toward the floor, smashed her whole face
(23:58):
in the worst part. Her husband somehow didn't hear a thing,
so he assumed she was asleep, and he went back
downstairs and made dinner while she bled out on the floor.
Do you know which room that was, I asked. She
(24:19):
had the room upstairs in the front of the house.
His eyes lifted to the windows of the room that
until to day had belonged to my infant son. I
felt sick. Thanks for telling me, I said that, poor
old man, it's so terrible. I just wish he had
(24:39):
mentioned all that to us. When we met him, the
neighbor looked back at me like I had lost my mind.
You couldn't have met him, he said. The night he
found her, he hanged himself in the same room. Mister
Hart has been dead for months. Must
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