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Welcome to Scary Story Podcast. Based
on the poll on Spotify you want to

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hear a scarier story, So I
thought of what scares me? This story

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called Inheritance is one of those stories
that will grow with you. My name

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is Edwin, and here's a scary
story. It was a little after the

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kids had gone back to school from
summer break when I got the call.

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I remember it because I was alone
at the house, something I desperately wished

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for all summer. Julia had forgotten
some folders as she needed for work,

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and had just closed the door and
was walking to the car when the phone

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rang. The man identified himself as
David Border, part of the Border and

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Sons log group based out of North
Carolina. Hearing the name of the state

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sent chills down my back. Had
gotten as far away as I could from

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my hometown in North carolinaationship with my
parents was not the best. Problems that

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I assumed every family went through,
but they were not the same as ours.

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There were things about my family that
I didn't want to remember, things

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that if I would dig into only
a little bit, would move a larger

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stone that would send a landslide of
memories back to my mind. The arm

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I was using to hold up the
phone went cold when the lawyer told me

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the news my father had passed away
and I would need to sign off on

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the arrangements for the funeral and need
to be present for the materials left behind

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for me. He said many other
things that were just sounds, losing their

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connection to language altogether, but he
did promise to email me a list of

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the things I was supposed to do
or complete during my visit, that I

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shouldn't try to remember everything right now
that he understood how difficult this must be

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for me. Difficult, yes,
I mean the man was my father and

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I loved him. I would keep
in touch with him every so often,

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but some of the things he would
say ended up going too far into the

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past to my mother and all of
the things that we went through, the

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sad memories of us growing up,
regret in his voice, one of living

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a life full of empty people.
The email from the lawyer arrived about ten

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minutes later, right after I called
Julia to let her know what had just

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happened. I realized I never asked
how my father had died. I figured

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I would find out eventually, or
maybe that it didn't matter anymore, I

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would be wrong about that too.
Julia thought it was important for me to

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find out, but asked to keep
her updated on my flight and reminded me

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of where I kept everything that I
needed to travel. She asked me if

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I wanted her to go with me, but she already knew the answer.

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The whole thing seemed like a transaction, not a moment of grief. I

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knew my father was about to go
for several months, and I knew everything

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was planned out, although in secret. And that was the thing with my

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family, the secrets. Even as
a child, I remember having to explain

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to my teachers that my parents didn't
let me fill out our family tree,

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giving them instead a letter from my
mother. The school I went to was,

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again, like with everything else in
my life, not normal. During

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my college applications, I realized that
the academies, as they used to call

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them, were private schools, the
kinds where parents have full control and teachers

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simply followed directions. That wasn't all
of it. My parents never had people

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over, and I don't remember many
parties except for the ones that they would

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throw for my brother. But even
if I try, those memories are too

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far away and badly formed in my
mind, and must have been four or

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five during those times. My brother's
face is only a blur to me,

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but even that memory, he looked
absolutely nothing like the person and the only

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family photograph we ever had on display
in our home. Julia called me as

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soon as I landed, letting me
know that everything would be taken care of

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and that her sister would be staying
at the house to help with the kids

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and Beto, our sleepy golden retriever. I called the lawyer David on the

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drive into town, where he gave
me the address to the offices. It

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was round eight at night already,
and he was still in the office finishing

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up some divorce filings. Things of
evil, he said, laughing. I

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didn't expect sympathy from the guy,
nor from any lawyer. Actually, I

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think it was because he was about
to tell me the details of the inheritance

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left to my name, something that
he assumed I would be happy about.

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Therefore felt like he could joke around
with me. The drive there was slow,

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so many cars along every single route
I tried to take, So I

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got to his office at about nine
thirty at night. His office was neat

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Wooden shelves and dark carpets. The
reception desk was empty, but all the

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lights were on, and the soft
jazz music that was playing in the hallway

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could still be heard, along with
the faint noise of a vacuum cleaner somewhere

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in the other offices. He was
a tall man, a little bit older,

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thin, and had a perfect posture
with the smile of a politician.

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He said hello to me and then
ushered me into his office, lined with

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books and newspaper clippings, with frame
certificates all along the walls, but still

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all of them neatly placed and perfectly
spaced from each other. He explained what

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had happened. My father had died
in his sleep, but was still undergoing

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investigation. He made it seem like
there was nothing to worry about when he

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casually mentioned potential foul play. Of
course, I asked what had happened.

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My father had no enemies, nobody
wanted him dead. It took me some

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digging and questioning to finally get vague
details on the situation. My father had

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been found by the cleaning staff on
a Friday morning, his face contorted twisted

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vertically so much that his jaw had
been dislocated, or so they assumed.

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The lawyer had seen the pictures,
he said, making an expression of disgust.

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There aer pretty gnarly. He said
that in about two days he would

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have the remaining paperwork ready, and
he gave me a series of folders,

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all neatly labeled with arrows on places
where to sign. Each stack had a

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printed half sheet of paper with the
summary one that said what I was about

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to sign, the estates, transfers
from the trust, and other documents regarding

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fees and records of accounts that were
remaining. H ignore the insurance material for

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now, we have to wait for
it to clear, he ordered. Still,

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my mind kept wandering insurance in case
you got murdered. Was that what

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he was talking about? Your brother
is not alive any more, correct,

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he asked me bluntly. He's dead. Yes, he's been dead for a

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long time. I answered. I
was upset at the question. Obviously this

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guy was supposed to know about my
family. He must have noticed it in

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my facial expression, because he cleared
it up by saying that my father had

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left two airs in his list.
It had been done through a recent modification

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of his will in recent times to
reflect my name in the name of my

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brother instead of just me again.
He read my confused expression and moved on.

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It was lots of process, so
I just signed over and over until

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he sat there reviewing everything. I
took out my phone and started searching for

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places to stay, but found nothing. Hotels, airbnbs, motels, and

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everything was all booked up, and
the remaining were outrageously high. And despite

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me knowing that money would not be
that big of an issue for me much

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longer, I could not bring myself
to pay over five hundred dollars for a

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room. I asked mister Border if
he knew of any hotels, but he

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shook his head and said that it
was going to be a busy weekend as

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one of the largest conventions of something
I don't remember what coincided with a concert.

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The point is there was going to
be no places to stay aside from

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well my father's house. The place
was cleaned, he said, The staff

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had cleaned the entire house before realizing
that they had been in the same building

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as a dead man. There was
something about the way he spoke that made

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me feel like I was talking to
only the shell of a well dressed human,

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and I didn't like it. He
said the case was processing now,

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so the area was usable, not
required for evidence any more. I could

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spend the night there. I didn't
know what to think at the moment.

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It was a big deal, or
at least it was supposed to be.

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But I accept the thoughts of going
to spend the night there faster than I

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had anticipated. I knew where my
key was, and so after signing everything

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and agreeing to meet up again on
Wednesday, I got back in the rental

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car and drove for half an hour
or so back to my father's place.

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The front gate had been left unlocked, although shut completely, just like the

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memories with my family, available whenever
I wanted them, everything was the same.

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When I went inside the enormous house, I remember the places where I

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used to play and the many others
I was never allowed to enter. The

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noises in the attic, the footsteps, the closet underneath the stairs. I

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went even further down to the basement
through the spiral staircase. Everything remained intact.

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Even the smell of it was enough
to make me remember the times to

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spend in that house, but mainly
just how much I wanted to get out.

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You see, my mother had a
few problems demons to deal with.

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My father did his best to help, but being overwhelmed by the many issues

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Mom had, he ended up focusing
all of his energy into his work.

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He would come home late and lose
himself in thought in front of the fireplace.

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Often he would ask about our days, sure, but it wasn't always

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like that. I was young at
the time, not older than six years

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old, when I noticed just how
big of a problem this had been.

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My mother had grown distant, lost, and I remember spending lots of time

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with my father around the house,
and he been going to his work at

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the office. I remember my brother
being gone and me asking about him,

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now having the entire back seat of
the car to myself. I was told

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that he was out on a trip
for the academy, or that summer camp

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had been extended, that he would
be back soon after he finished with his

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schoolwork. I don't know how old
I was when I finally realized that I

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would never see him again, so
I just stopped asking. But one afternoon,

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a Saturday, just like any other, had woken up early to go

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play outside, and walked down the
long hallway and down the stairs and with

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every footstep, I could see a
little more of the black shoes at the

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bottom of the staircase. Soon I
could see the black black pant legs,

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and then the white shirt with the
short sleeves and the skinny arms. As

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I stepped down, I could see
his neck and then his face, completely

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pale, shorter than I remembered him. But still I knew it must have

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been my brother. All of these
thoughts, all of these memories that I

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didn't want on a have not before
I was about to spend the night in

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this house, But I remember,
and I kept remembering. I ran down

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the stairs, excited to see him, but as I got closer and he

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wouldn't move, I tapped him on
the shoulder a little and watched him collapse

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completely on the floor. I screamed
as loud as I could, and ran

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up the stairs, waking up my
mother, who opened the door and then

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asked what happened. Then she turned
her head back into her room and then

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back to the hallway, yelling George, and then dashing toward the staircase and

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then to the floor below. I
remember standing there, confused as I saw

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her slowly climb up the stairs and
then walked toward me on the hallway,

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completely ignoring me as she walked past
me and stepped back into her room,

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carrying the curled up body of my
brother, my older brother, George,

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and then watched her shut the door. Part two of Inheritance is coming up

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right after this stay with me like
a child again. I tried not to

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think of what I had just thought
about as I made my way to the

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guest room on the first floor.
I left all of the lights on,

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maybe to give the place some life, or maybe to keep me with mine.

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But you probably have some of those
places that grab you too. I

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mean, this house was mine,
or so I kept saying to myself,

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but the thought that maybe it was
the other way around wouldn't leave my mind.

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I stepped into the kitchen, neat
everything organized, likely in preparation for

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my stay, along with a note
on the refrigerator the cleaning service company.

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I guess I didn't read the whole
thing, but it was a thank you

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note to the new owners, the
pleasure it had been working with my father,

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and the condolences from their company.
The lawyer had arranged my stay there

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already, and maybe that's why he
had seemed so concerned about me staying somewhere

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else. I know my father had
worked with him for years already, and

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for since the death of my mother. It was strange how she died.

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The free relatives and friends that my
parents knew also knew that even then I

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could understand how great it was for
it to just be us as a team

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against the world. But my mind
was too simple to understand the dark world

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we were living in. We started
losing my mother slowly again with me being

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so young. All I can remember
had to do with the things that she

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would tell me and the way my
father would respond to it. All.

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You see, when I was told
that my brother left for camp, all

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those times, I had been convinced
that he had been taken by another family.

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And I don't know why, but
I thought that I would be the

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next one to be taken. Back
then, I didn't know my brother had

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died, and the reasons had been
hidden for me. It was one of

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those secrets that made life impossible around
the house. My mother would rarely join

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us for dinner after that, and
she had an assistant of sorts, missus

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Becky, a woman who would help
clean her room and generally help out around

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the house until she was yelled at
and literally ran out of the house one

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morning, crying still. I would
get the chance to talk to my mother

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sometimes in the mornings before going to
the academy, or at night before I

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would go to sleep, and she
would be by the fireplace downstairs. I

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was still in the kitchen, looking
at the old living room with the fireplace,

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thinking of the way she would sit
still, looking at the fire and

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then over at me with that half
smile, reassuring me that she was still

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my mother, that she was doing
the best as she could. You know,

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there was one, okay that I
remember, when she was a little

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joyful and actually smiling. The photographer
had been hired to come to the house

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and take a picture of us,
and we had all gotten dressed up.

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My father had his dark blue suit
on, and I had put on a

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matching one that belonged to my older
brother George that now fit me. I

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seemed to have gotten my memories jumbled
up because my brother was still in that

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picture, although I don't remember anything
else of him that day, yet he's

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in the picture, although again he
didn't look the same. I walked through

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the first floor of the house the
guest room that I wanted to stay in

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was down there, and it was
on the east side of the house,

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with its own entrance an exit to
the backyard. I brought the bag I

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had left by the front door and
walked through the living room, down the

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hallway and set it on the bed
of the guest room, before washing up

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in the bathroom to get ready to
go to sleep. I didn't know if

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the news had been so heavy that
I hadn't processed everything yet, or if

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this was the way it was going
to be. A guy who was completely

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okay with the death of his father
and accepted it this quickly. The thoughts

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that came that night brought out a
different image of him. He was a

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good person, although distant. He
tried to please my mother for as long

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as I could remember, until we
lost her. Poor guy. It was

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sometime in the middle of the night
when I woke up to the sound of

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footsteps on the floor above me.
The hallway upstairs was closer to the middle

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of the house, and that's where
they were heading. I could follow them,

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sudden and quietly walking toward the staircase. It was nothing compared to the

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many things that would happen around the
house. When I was younger, the

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footsteps were another reminder of why I
wanted to leave for so long. None

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of my friends wanted to come over, and the rumors of my mother being

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crazy and a witch kept everyone even
further away. It was those footsteps,

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the faded sound of laughter at night, the way the noises would come right

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up to the door of my bedroom, so close that I could see the

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shadow of the thing right outside it. It was that thing that kept me

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awake, and I thought it would
go away as I got older. Kids

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have strange thoughts. I mean,
kids are afraid of everything, right.

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We make things up when we're that
young, or so we'd like to think.

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But as I grew older and kept
experiencing or imagining, like I convinced

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myself to believe the strange things that
went on in that house, things became

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real. You see, there were
two main entities in that house, or

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whatever you want to call them.
There was a woman by the window,

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the little footsteps with the laughter throughout
the house. I know it's sounds hard

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to believe, but I don't think
anyone accepts it until they've seen what I've

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seen. And after going back to
that house, there is no doubt in

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my mind about the other beings,
the ones we knowingly ignore and refuse to

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see, who are around every single
corner, or just one simple conversation away

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from becoming real. The footsteps stopped, I'm guessing from right at the top

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of the staircase. So I just
laid there in complete silence, expecting the

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00:19:30.400 --> 00:19:34.920
steps to move back to the hallway, completely against going to figure out what

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had been making the sounds. I
had investigated many times before, and no

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one had broken in, and no
one had been walking down the hallway.

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I remember the expression on my mother's
face when I told her about it late

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one night, and in a haunting, calm expression, she told me to

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let the souls of purgatory take their
time, that they would leave when they're

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time came. But I knew how
scared she was about these things. I

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had seen terror in her eyes already. I clearly remember an event in my

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family's history that I came to name
trash Day. At least that's what I

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00:20:15.279 --> 00:20:18.720
called it all of those times I've
told my wife about it. That one

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00:20:18.759 --> 00:20:22.920
time I had to explain my recurring
nightmares and how they all stammed from that

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00:20:23.079 --> 00:20:27.839
night. My brother was gone by
that time, and my mother would be

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up in her room all day and
night. When the help around the house

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wasn't there. I would have to
take her meals up to her room.

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00:20:36.319 --> 00:20:42.640
Sometimes would see candles, dozens and
dozens of them on the floor, short

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00:20:42.720 --> 00:20:48.880
stacks of books along her bed,
right there with her, those books that

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00:20:48.920 --> 00:20:52.440
she would look up from when she
would say thanks and to leave everything by

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00:20:52.440 --> 00:20:56.680
her nightstand. I was not allowed
to be in there technically, and she

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00:20:56.720 --> 00:21:02.519
would remind me of it too,
telling me firmly to please leave her whenever

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00:21:02.559 --> 00:21:06.920
I would start to look around in
there. I of course wanted to see

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00:21:06.960 --> 00:21:10.960
what was going on. I mean, she had been receiving shipments every few

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00:21:10.960 --> 00:21:17.559
weeks, boxes that would very quickly
find their way upstairs and into her room.

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This particular night, I heard a
scream from upstairs, and my dad

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rushed from his own room and ran
down the hallway to find out what was

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00:21:26.359 --> 00:21:30.039
wrong. She was screaming at the
top of her lungs with words I couldn't

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understand. Then I heard my dad
shouting, items falling down hard against the

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wooden floor. I stepped out into
the hall and watched them carrying box after

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00:21:41.920 --> 00:21:48.799
box with these strange figures I could
only describe as people. He was bringing

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them downstairs and outside into the dumpster. Mom kept dumping boxes out into the

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hallway, screaming to get them out. I remember running to the door and

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00:21:59.279 --> 00:22:03.279
grabbing a box so only to see
the head of a large doll looking right

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00:22:03.319 --> 00:22:06.920
at me, and I dropped it
as soon as my mother commanded me to

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00:22:06.960 --> 00:22:10.039
take it out of the house.
I was at the top of the stairs

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00:22:10.079 --> 00:22:12.359
when I saw my father running up
to me and taking it from my hands,

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00:22:12.720 --> 00:22:17.720
then made his way down quickly as
I heard Mom yelling and throwing more

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boxes and figures into the hall.
I vaguely remember asking my father about it,

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00:22:23.480 --> 00:22:26.960
and he said they were taking out
the trash. That was that.

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00:22:29.319 --> 00:22:36.839
He refused to say anything more.
And you see, it was a different

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00:22:36.960 --> 00:22:41.200
kind of fear, the kind that
keeps you awake for far too long,

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where your mind begins to stretch to
the impossible, so much that it spreads

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00:22:47.720 --> 00:22:57.079
to your face. I heard the
footsteps again. I could tell that we're

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00:22:57.079 --> 00:23:03.720
coming down the stairs struggling, and
I don't know how it happened. Call

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00:23:03.799 --> 00:23:08.880
it a hidden memory or a realization
brought to me by the place itself that

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00:23:08.920 --> 00:23:14.240
I pieced together everything. As I
was gathering my things to rush for the

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00:23:14.279 --> 00:23:18.880
door that night, the footsteps were
at the base of the stairs now,

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00:23:18.680 --> 00:23:23.680
and I could hear them clinking against
the wooden floor. It was just too

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00:23:23.720 --> 00:23:30.200
obvious to ignore. Grab my bag
and leave the shoes. Grab my bag

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00:23:30.319 --> 00:23:33.319
and leave the shoes, I told
myself as I opened up the guests room

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00:23:33.359 --> 00:23:37.720
door. My father and the way
he had passed, his jaw stretched out

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00:23:37.759 --> 00:23:45.440
and dislocated, maybe from a muscle
spasm or fear, the kind that stretches

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00:23:45.480 --> 00:23:51.240
your face and welcomes you to the
end of your life. My mother and

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00:23:51.319 --> 00:23:55.559
the shipments of dolls, forever searching
for the one that looked like my brother.

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00:23:56.079 --> 00:24:00.720
The photograph, the one in the
living room that you owed My father,

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00:24:00.279 --> 00:24:10.319
my mother, myself, and the
thing. I heard the footsteps behind

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00:24:10.319 --> 00:24:14.200
me as I shut the front door
of the house and ran to the car.

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00:24:15.160 --> 00:24:33.880
I knew, I knew that thing. Was it my brother? What

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00:24:33.960 --> 00:24:37.960
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