Speaker 1: Hello, I moalkened stories all the time. Glad you are here.
Let's get into it. My roommate had headed home for
winter break, leaving me alone in the duplex. We'd been
rending off a quiet stretch of road and have a
hill just a few miles outside of Billings. It was
early January and the snow hadn't let up in days.
It had stacked up so high along the driveway in
portch that I had to shovel just to swing the
front door open. The whole neighborhood was practically buried. The
second night is when things went sideways. I was scrolling
my phone, kind of zoning out when I heard it.
The backey creaked, not slammed, not rattle, just that low,
drawn out squeak. I recognized immediately we had one of
those old wooden fences with the metal latch, and the
hinges had been rosted since the day we moved in.
I could have identified that sound in my sleep. I
paused the video and sat up a little. I told
myself it was probably the wind, or a chunk of
ice falling off a tree limb. Still, I got up
and walked into the kitchen, which had the only window
that looked out over yard ass was black, not dim,
completely black. The porch light had gone out weeks earlier,
and we never got around to replacing the bulb. I
flipped the switch anyway, just in case something had miraculously
started working. It hadn't. That's when my phone buzzed. I
figured it was Harper, maybe checking in, but it wasn't her.
It was a text from a number I didn't recognize. Eyes,
no contact name, no photo, just to message that reed,
you should lock the back door. My stomach turned for
a second. I just stood there, staring at the screen,
re reading the words, hoping i'd some hum misunderstood. But
there it was clear as day. No punctuation, no emojis,
just that that. And here's the thing. I hadn't told
any one I was alone. I wasn't posing about it.
I hadn't texted friends, and my parents didn't even have
the address. The only person who knew where I was
entered this number was my roommate, and she was across
the state line spending time with her mom. I walked
straight to the back door. It was still locked, bolt
and all and all but the key I always kept
in the lock, same key, I used when bringing in
groceries or Latin in the meiregar. It was gone, just gone.
I froze my hand hovering near the knob. I tried
to tell myself maybe I'd taken it out Earllyer and forgotten.
Maybe I'd left it and the counter dropped it in
my cup pocket. But that didn't make sense. I always
left it there every time. Then came the second text
too late. My whole chest tightened, like someone had wrapped
about around it. I turned around and scanned the room,
the living room, the hall, the ktchen behind me. Everything
looked normal, but I didn't feel normal. It was like
my brain had been kicked into some word survival mode,
like I was seeing the house differently, now more vulnerable.
Too many windows, too many ways in. I reached for
my phone to call the police, already fumbling with the
unlocked screen when the third text came through. Nice. It
was right in the middle of the living room, covered
in a messer pillows and half empty chip bags, just
like I had left it. It was visible from the
front windows, barely only if you leaned in, maybe pressed
your face against the glass just right. But some one
I have seen it. Some one had seen it. I
dropped down to the floor immediately, practically on instinct, crawled
away from the windows toward the wall by the TV
and pressed my back against it. My heart was pounding
so fast it felt like it was skipping beats. I
stayed there, frozen for I don't know how long. The
snow muffled everything outside and inside. The silence was just
too complete. No more creeks, no cars, nothing. Eventually I
whispered into the phone and got a despatcher on the line.
I told her everything about the messages, the gate, the
missing key. I could hear how calm she was trying
to be, but I could also tell she didn't know
what to make of it. She said officers were on
the way and told me not to move unless I
had to. I wited. I didn't go back to the door.
I didn't pick out the window. I just stayed tucked
into the corner, listening for anything at all. Twenty minutes later,
I was standing barefoot and the snow while two officers
with flashlights walked the property. They found footprints, one set
starting from the road curbing around the house. They stopped
under my bedroom window, the one I hadn't been using
and then nothing, no return trail, no sign of a car.
It was like, whoever it was, just vanished. I showed
them the texts, or tried too, but the whole thread
was gone. Not just a lea had gone. There was
no lock of the number, no trace in my messages
or even in my cold history. One of the officers
asked if I was sure I hadn't imagined it. The
other one looked more concerned. They said I should cross
somewhere else for the night, just in case. I grabbed
my keys and went to Lise's. She had a fruton
in a habit of leaving the TV on all night,
which honestly helped. She tried to laugh about it, called
a horror movie audition. But I didn't sleep, not even
a little. Next morning, I went back to the duplex
just to grab some clothes. That's when I saw it.
The key, the one that had vanished from the back door,
was sitting in the door mat I moved out. Two
weeks later, I changed my number, lockdown, all my social media,
started using blackout curtains and sticking a chair under the
doorknop at night. I just moved back to Maple Ridge
after finishing school in Vermont, not permanently, just long enough
to help my dad recover from surgery. He did, his
hip replaced in a fall, and was finally getting back
on his feet by New Years. By the first week
of January, he was well enough to head out to
Colorado to see his brother, and honesty, I was glad
he was going. He hadn't had a break in years,
and the quiet scened good for both of us. I
figured it would be simple enough, keep an eye on
the place, shovel the driveway, make sure the puffs didn't freeze,
And honestly, I didn't mind having the house to myself.
I'd grown up there, after all, knew every inch of it,
the strange lay out of the upstairs hallways, the slightly
warped kitchen towel that always made a dull popping sound
when he stepped on it just right. I'd even memorize away.
The house creaked at night, the soft grown from the
roof when the snow saddled, the radiator hissing to life
in the middle of the night like it was breathing.
But when you were used to those sounds being mixed
in with someone else's footsteps or the clink of dishes
in the kitchen. Being completely alone makes you hear them differently.
The house sits at the very edge of town, with
nothing but woods behind it, not deep for ust, just
enough trees to block out the back neighbor's and make
it feels secluded growing up. Are you still love that now?
Not so much. By the third night, the weirdness started.
Nothing huge, just little things I brushed off because they
felt explainable. The first was a drawer in the kitchen
left slightly open, the one with the aluminum foil and
kitchen scissors. I was sure I hadn't touched it, but
maybe I had. I didn't remember closing it. I figured
I was just destructed. Then a few mornings in I
noticed a whole way light had been left on overnight.
Not a big deal, but it was the switch at
the far end of the whole one I rarely used
because I usually stuck to the kitchen and the living room.
Still I assumed I just left it on by mistake.
Another time I couldn't find a TV remote, I always
left it right on the coffee table in the exact
same spot. I ended up finding it wedged under the
couch cushion, which was weary because I hadn't even sat
on that side of the couch that night. It felt minor,
but when you're alone, even small things stack up. By
the fifth night, I was double checking all the locks
before bed. Then I started triple checking. Our back door
has this old brass latch that never quite lines upright,
So I started wedding a heavy wooden chair in front
of it each night just to be sure. I even
got into the habit of locking my bedroom door, a
new behavior for me. It just made me feel better
save for somehow, even though logically nothing was really happening.
The sixth night is when it got worse. I stayed
up like watching one of those over all lot nature documentaries,
something about the Arctic foxes. I remember because the narrator
had this calm's running voice. That some I made me
even more aware of how quiet the house was. Around midnight.
That eatter clicked off. It always ended with a loud
dump that made the baseballs vibrates slightly. Right after that,
I got up to refill my water in the kitchen.
That's when eyes or at the basement door was opened,
just barely, maybe an inch, but that was enough. Now
the thin about the door was of sticks like held
you really after yant it to open it, especially in
the winter when the woods wells. I hadn't opened it
once since my dad left, had no reason to the
basements and finished and cold, mostly used for stow and
pent cans and old snow gate. I just stood their
glass and hands staring at the door like it was
going to move on it. So now reached over slowly
and pushed it shut. Heard the latch click. Then I
locked the knob, which felt a little silly but also on.
I told myself it had probably bounced open from the
vibrations when the heater shut off. That seemed possible, But
that night I couldn't sleep. Every time I started to
drift off, i'd hear something, not loud, just subtle shifts
a soft creek were the faintest sound of movement. It
wasn't constant, but it was enough to get me out
of bed twice to check the hallway. Both times nothing
was there. Eventually, probably around three in the morning, I
fell asleep with my hoodie on and the lamp still
on low. The next morning I came downstairs and the
basement door was wide open, not cracked open. I stopped
at the bottom of the stairs and didn't go any closer.
The lock didn't look broken, but something was different. There
was a smell wafting up from below, damp and stale,
like moldy towels or clothes that had been wet for
too long and never dry. I stood there for way
too long, debating whether to grow down or just close
the door again and pretend it was happening. I ended
up calling my uncle Henry. He lives nearby, and as
the type of guy who's always ready for something weird,
I told him I thought maybe an animal gotten through
the old basement hatch outside. It sounded beleeatable enough. He
showed up about thirty minutes with his big mag light
and a toe box. For some reason, we went down together.
I stayed right behind him, trying to act like I
wasn't completely freaked up. We didn't make it five steps
before we saw the stuff. In a far back corner
of the basement, behind the furnace. Some one had made
a little nest, an old stained sleeping bag, food wrappers
scattered in a neat little pile, one of my dad's jackets.
I hadn't even realized was missing, and this metal dawed
bowl with water and if like they were trying to
keep it clean. My uncle didn't say anything right away.
He just looked at me like he wasn't sure how
to break the news. Gently, he checked the basement hatch
and found it slightly open, just enough to let someone
squeeze through. He shut it and nailed it close with
a couple of rusty nails he found on a shelf nearby.
I thought that was the end of it. That night,
I tried to convince myself it had been some drifter
who found a warm place to crash. I told myself
they were gone now that the door was nail shuted,
that I was safe. Round two a m I heard
footsteps on the first floor. Heavy ones, slow measured, Not
the kind of creeks he get from pipe settling or
wood expanding. These were actual footsteps moving across the living room.
I didn't even hesitate. I locked my bedroom door, grabbed
my phone and called the police. Whispered everything stayed on
the line until I heard the sirens outside. The offices
came in fast. I heard them shouting, running through the house.
I didn't open my door till one of them knocked
and told me it was okay. They found him. He
was hiding in the laundry room behind the boiler, A
man in his thirties, may be older, greasy, hody, worn
out jeans, didn't speak a word. He had a small
bag with him. Inside were some of our kitchen knives,
a flash like my dad kept in the junk drawer.
He'd been in and out of the house for days,
maybe longer. He knew when I was awake. When I left,
he had another blanket tuck behind the stairs that no
one had noticed before. That was enough for me. I
packed a bag that night and moved in with my
friend Miriam. I didn't set foot back in that house
until my dad returned, and even now I can't really
shake it. I double checked doors, leave lights on, and
sleep with some machine just to mass quiet. I was
twenty three when it happened, stuck by myself over winter
break in the off campus rental I shared with three
other people. Andrea, Janny, and Mark had all gone home
for the holidays, scattering across different states to spend time
with family. I didn't mind staying behind, so I didn't bother.
I had food, heat, and know where I needed to be.
I figured i'd hibernate for a few weeks, crank out
some design work, and maybe binge a few old series
in between. That Friday night was the first one worthings
started to feel off. It was colder than usual, the
kind of cold that makes the windows hum. A little
snow had been falling steadily since late morning, and by
the time the sun deep behind the trees, he could
barely see the road. I made something simple for dinner,
probably left of aposta and a microwave veggie mix, then
locked all the doors like I always did, and headed
to my room. I'd set up a little work space
with my laptop and drawing tablet, planning to chip away
at some walk ups for my design portfolio. Around ten,
my laptop froze, not like a glitcher or one of
those rainbow wheel hang ups. It just stopped responding. The
screen dimmed, and the battery I can started flashing like
it wasn't charging. I double checked the outlet, unplugged and
replugged the charger, tried a different socket. Still nothing. About
a minute later, the whole thing powered. Damn. I just
stared at it for a second. It was plugged in.
Everything else in the room was working THEMP on space
heat to hommy. I remember giving it one last press
of the power button and just sitting there as it
did absolutely nothing. Eventually I gave up, figured maybe the
battery finally gave out of the cold mestery that somehow.
I got up, brushed my teeth, and called it a night.
While I was in the bathroom, I heard something. It
sounded like the back door closing, not slamming, just that soft,
intentional click it mix when someone closes it slowly, the
kind of sound that barely registers unless you're really listening
for it. I froze midbrush, water still running tooth brush
halfway to the sink. I stood there, listening hard, trying
to tell if it was just the wind pushing against
the frame. Nothing still. They grabbed a hody and on
downstairs to check. The house wasn't big, but it creaked
like it was. Every step echoed in this low, hollow way,
like the wood was tired of holding itself together. The
back door was locked. Nothing looked off. I check every window,
even the basement door. All fine. I flipped on the
porch light to look for footprints, but by then the
wind did pick up again, scattering the snow sigh of
wreas against the glass. Everything outside looked smooth, untouched. I
was half way back up the stairs when I noticed
the hallway light was out. It's a small thing, but
I always left the light on when I was alone.
I'm not superstitious or anything. It just made the house
feel as empty. I reached the top, flick the switch
a few times. Nothing. The bulb had gone dead. Maybe,
oh maybe something had flipped the breaker, though everything else
seemed to be working fine. Then I noticed my bedroom door.
It was open, not fully, just half way, just half way.
I never leave it like that ever. I either shut
it all the way or leave it wide open. That
in between engle always felt wrong, like the room was
expecting some one. I pushed it gently. The desk lamp
was off. I left it on when I went downstairs.
My charger cable was still where I left it. Chare
was tucked in. Closet door still closed. Everything looked the same,
but I stood there longer than I should have, not moving,
not blinking, just watching the dark shape of my room
hold still. Eventually I walked in, turned the lamp back on,
locked the door behind me, and called into bed fully dressed.
Around two in the morning, I woke up suddenly, not
from a sound, at least not one I remembered, just
that strange sholt of a litmus, like your body knows
something before your brain does. My eyes were wide open.
I didn't feel groggy or confused. I was just awake.
Then I heard it, creaking floorboards slowly, like weight was
shifting outside my door. One step, then a pause, then another.
The hallway was narrow, and I could tell just from
the sound that whatever it had stopped right outside my room.
I didn't move. I don't even think i'd breathed. I
just stared at the door and waited. Hullo. I whispered,
half expecting to hear Andrea laf or Jamie yell gotcha
or something. Nothing. After maybe ten minutes of silence, I
finally unlocked the door and cracked it open. The hallway
was empty. I checked the bathroom, Jamie's room, Andrew's room,
even the linen closet and stairs. Still. When I got
back to my room, my phone lit up on the
night's end. I hadn't touched it. I leaned over and
saw a calendar notification meeting with Julian Friday at three
of'm I just stared at it. I didn't make that event.
I've never had any one in my contacts named Julian,
and it wasn't even Friday any more. I deleted the alert,
set my phone face down, and didn't sleep the rest
of the night. The next morning, I tore through the
whole house again, every window, every door, even pulled the
attic steps down and climbed up with a flashlight. Nothing.
The s smelled dusty and old, but there was no
sign any one had been up there in years. Same
for the basement, just the same damp smell and stacks
of old paint cans we never touched. By afternoon, I
told myself how I was being ridiculous. Maybe the cold
was getting to me. Maybe I'd imagine half of it.
I decided to take a long shower and shake it off.
I left the bathroom door crack so the steam wouldn't
choke me. When I stepped out in a towel, I
noticed the hallway mirror was completely fogged up, which didn't
make sense. The mirror is not even near the door,
and I'd only been in the twenty minutes. I walked
past it then froze. There were streaks in the condensation,
long vertical ones, like someone had dragged their fingers straight
down the glass, but they were too far apart, wider
than my hands could reach even if I stretched. I tested,
it didn't match. I wiped the mirror clean, got dress,
and left the bathroom light on. Later that evening, I
texted Andrea, told how the place had been giving me
weired vibes, and I might cash with a friend in
town for a couple nights. She responded fast, didn't Julian
come over last night? My whole body went cold? I replied,
who the hell is Julian? She never texted back. By sunset,
I had a duffle backpacked and sitting by the front door.
I didn't have a plan. I just knew I wasn't
staying again. That night, I was in the kitchen heating
up leftovers when I heard my name from upstairs. Nott whispered,
not yelled, just said casually, like some one calling you
from another room, enough to make you pause. I froze.
The microwave was still humming, the stove was clicking, but
everything else had gone silent. I turned off the burner
stood still for a second, then grebed my coat. As
I reached for the zipper, my phone buzzed. Knew alurret
meeting with Julian. Now. I left everything stove still hot,
lights on, furge open. I shut the door behind me,
but didn't lock it, just got in my car and drove.
My parents were out of town for the weekend, visiting
my sister in Maine. They left Friday morning and wouldn't
be back until late Sunday night. I stayed behind because
I had a shift at the book store on Saturday
and didn't feel like making the drive just to come
right back. I liked having the house to myself anyway,
So yeah, once the snow starts coming down, nobody just
drops by that for I day night, I got home
right before six. I dropped my back back by the door,
kicked off my boots, and headed straight to the kitchen.
The lights flickered once while I was cleaning up, just
a quick blink. It happens a lot when the weather's bad.
I didn't think anything of it. I grabbed a few
candles and set them around the living room, just in case,
not fromod or anything. Just hap it. A little after eight,
my mom texted to check in. She asked if the
drive we had been plowed yet. I told her no,
it wouldn't be until morning unless we called some one,
and I was planning to. It was the week end
that a pile up. After that, I made some hot chocolate,
pulled a blanket over myself, and started a movie on
my laptop. Can't remember what it was, something I'd seen before.
I just wanted something on in the background. The house
felt a little too quiet with all the snow piling
up outside. I think I was maybe twenty minutes twenty
five minutes into it when I the first knock. It
came from the back door, not the front where delivery
people or neighbors might knock. The back, the one that
leads out to the porch which faces the woods. No walkway,
no reason any one would be back there, just a single,
solid knock, not rushed, not repeated, just knock. I muted
the movie and sat there for a few seconds, thinking
maybe it was nothing, a branch falling maybe, or snow
shifting on the roof. But then it came again, same knock,
same rhythm. When shop had it sounded like some one
using their knuckles, or maybe the side of the hand.
I got up and walked over to the dining room window,
which gives a partial view of the porch. I couldn't
see the door itself, but I could see the railing,
the steps, the snow covered boards. Everything looked still, no
foot print, snow movement, just snow falling thick and slow.
I flipped in the porch light. Still nothing. There's no
peep hole on that door, and I was about to
open it to check. So I walked around to the garogionstead.
I turned in the motion light that covers the driveway
and check the side door near the laundry room. It
was locked, same as always. Everything looked normal and disturbed.
I stood there for a minute, telling myself it was
probably the window, snow slumping off the roof, maybe hitting
the porch y ailing the way down. I turned off
the porch light and walked back towards the living room.
Then there was another knock. This one was louder, still
just one, but heavier, like they'd use more of their
weight behind it. I felt it through the floor, like
a subtle vibration that came up through my socks. That's
when I grabbed my phone. I turned off the living
room lights, then the kitchen hallway. Everything the house when
dim except for the glow of the movie still paused
on my laptop. I stood at the kitchen sink and
looked out through the little window above it. If faces
the back yard, and with the light behind me turned off,
I could see pretty clearly outside. And that's when I
saw them. Footprints. Just one sat leading from the trees
to the bottom step of the porch. But they were
in space like some one walking normally. They were close together,
unnaturally close, like whoever made them had been crouching or
maybe dragging a foot. It didn't look right. I called
my dad straight to voicemail. Then I called my mom.
She picked up. I told her some one might be outside.
She asked if i'd call the police. I hadn't yet.
I wasn't even sure what i'd be reporting. No break in,
no noise, no visible person, just knocks, just footprints. That's
when I heard it again, another knock, this time from
inside the house. It came from the laundry room. That
room connects to the kitchen. It's got a solid door
that we usually keep shut. I hadn't been in there
since the night before the knock was different, this time, lighter,
three short taps, almost playful, like someone using just their
finger tip. I dropped my phone, didn't scream, didn't yell,
just picked it up, waffed over, locked the laundry room door,
and backed away slowly. I called nine hundred eleven. The
despatcher answered right away. I told her what was going on,
what I'd seen, what I'd heard. She stayed calm. Asked
if I was alone, asked if I could safely lock
myself in a room. I told her yes, I said
I was in the kitchen and everything was locked. Then
she asked how many entrances does your home have? I
said for front door, back door, garage, and the side
door by the laundry room. There was a pause. Then
she asked, is any one else supposed to be in
the house with you? I said no, any bets Now
another pause, Then she said, there's movement inside your home.
Deputies are approaching. Now, stay on the line, do not speak,
do not hang up. Right then the power went out,
not flickered, it died. Everything, light's fridge, the hum of
the heater all just stopped. The only light was from
my phone screen. I crouched behind the couch and held
my breath. The despatcher was still on the line, telling
me not to move, not to make a sound. Then
I heard the knob on the laundry room door, turning slowly,
testing the lock, not forcing it, just gently back and forth,
like some one checking if it would open. Then silence again.
A few seconds later, red and blue lights flushed crossed
the ceiling. The knock on the front door came hard
County Sheriff. I didn't move till they shouted again. When
I finally got up and opened the door, two deputies
were standing there, one of them already pulling a flash
out from his belt. This wept the house from top
to bottom. Nobody was there but the laundry room door.
It was unlocked. I know I locked it. I felt
the bolt slide, I remember it. But they checked every
point of entry. Nothing else had been opened, no signs
of forced entry, just that door, somehow unlocked again. And
then they found something else. On the inside of the
laundry room window was a handprint. It was faint but
clear enough to see the shape t smam, too small
to be mine, smodged like whoever left it had leaned
against the glass with their whole body, like they were
trying to look in her press room. The next day,
my dad found a jacket. It was tucked behind the
water heater in the garage stuff backs so deep it
looked like it had been intentionally hidden. Since then, I
haven't stayed a night there. My parents had gone to
sand fifa O a weekend trip, some art festival, I think,
and I stayed behind to look after that house. They
live in Elbridge, a small town in northern New Hampshire
where nothing happens quickly, quiet snow, lots of tall pines
and lawndrus to get anywhere, the kind of place where
people leave their doors unlocked, mostly because they've always done
it that way. The house sits near the edge of town,
not quite in the woods, but close enough that if
you step off the back porch and keep walking you'll
hit forest within two minutes. In the winter, it's pretty
in that picture post card kind of way, soft snow everywhere,
tall trees laced in white, and a stillness that feels
like time stops after four p m. It's also weirdly quiet.
I don't mean peaceful, I mean quiet, like unsettlingly so
no traffic come, no sirens, no barking dogs or neighbors
yelling across fences, just wind and the occasional pop of
the baseboard heaters. At night, the silent feels heavy, like
you're constantly waiting for it to break. Priday was fine.
I spend the day shoveling out the drivery twice because
the pod truck always pass it up after you think
you're done. Then I made some box tortellini and watched
a few dumb shows, coul up on the couch, the
kind of brain off nothing day. I honestly didn't mind.
It started getting dark a little after five, and then
around six the snowfall picked up, hard, heavy flakes, coming fast,
the kind that just erases everything you did with a
shovel an hour ago. I went around checking the doors
and windows. It's not like we're in a high crime
area or anything, but I still like to make sure
things are locked and em alone, double checked the backslider,
clicked on the outside motion lights, flipped a few lamps
on inside so it wouldn't feel so dim. I figured
i'd stay up late, maybe order some random thing I
didn't need online, or scroll through music i'd never listened to.
Around nine zero. I heard a sound above me. It
was soft and muted thumb. My first thought was snow
sliding off the roof, which is normal, it builds up
and shifts as the heat rises from the attic. But
then I muted the show and listened more carefully, and
it didn't sound like it was coming from the roof anymore.
It sounded lower behind me, maybe near the back door.
It wasn't loud, more like a brushing sound, like something
scrape slightly against the door, or maybe bumped into it.
I got up and walked into the kitchen, stared out
the back window for a few seconds. The motion light
was on, illuminating the patio in the first stretch of yard.
Nothing was moving. I looked for tracks, nothing new that
I could see, just smooth and touched snow. Still opened
the door. I know, not the brightest move, but at
the time it felt more curious than dangerous. I expected
maybe to catch a brand swinging in the window, some
small animal sniffing around, but it was empty. Absolutely still
colderre slapped me in the face, sharp enough to sting.
I stood there for a few seconds, staring into the dark,
just beyond the light reach, then shut the door, locked
it again and made sure of the dead what was
all the way, turned back to the couch, tried to focus.
Ten minutes later, the motion I clicked off. No big deal,
it's on a timer. But right before it went dark,
I thought I saw something move behind the fence, not clearly,
just a shape, a shift in the shadows. I stood
up again. This time I didn't open anything, just move
to the window that looks down the side of the
house where you can see a good chunk of the yard. Nothing,
no movement, no foot prints, just the eery stillness again,
like everything was holding its bath. That weird bus started
in my stomach, not full on fury yet, but that
little static charge that beilds up when something doesn't sit right.
I went upstairs and dug out the aluminum bad I
used to keep under my bed back in high school.
It was still where I left it, a little dusty
but solid. At around ten point thirty, there was a knock.
It was soft, just to tap, spaced out slow. It
came from the mudroom window, the small one on the
side of the house, the one we never used because
there's no real path to get there. It's just grass
and wheeze now buried under snow that windows may be
shoal to hide from the outside, you'd have to step
into some overgrown bushes just to reach it. I didn't move,
just stood there, holding about like a baseball trout reject.
I waited, hart pounding way harder than made sense, for
two little knocks. Nothing followed, no more sounds, no footsteps,
no second knot After a few minutes of standing there
like a statue, I told myself it could have been
nice sliding or a tree branch bouncing off the side.
In I turned on every light downstairs and moved to
a spot where I could see both the front and
back doors without being fully visible through the windows. Around midnight,
things got worse. I heard a voice, a man's voice,
cunning from outside, just a casual hello, like he was
calling out to some one he was expecting to answer.
He didn't knock, didn't ring the bell, just said hello once.
I didn't respond, didn't move. After about thirty seconds, I
tiptoed to the front door and looked through the peep hole.
Nobody was there. I weeded, turned the porch light on.
That's when I saw the bootprints, one set deep ones
They came from the side of the yard and stopped
at the top step, nothing leading away. That's when I
got scared for real. I turned the light off and
backed away, keeping my phone in my hand. Now tried
to calm myself down. Thought maybe I should call the cops,
but part of me didn't want to react. Another part
of me kept thinking he saw Prince. Someone was definitely there.
Then the back of motion light flicked on. I rushed
to the kitchen window and looked out. This time I
saw him, not clearly, just the outline, a man in
a dark jacket walking slowly across the yard toward the fence.
Not heard, not sneaky, just walking like he belonged there.
He disappeared behind the shed. That was enough. I called
the police, told them someone was in the property. They
said a cruiser was out, but moving slow due to
the weather. I gave my address and waited. About ten
minutes later, there was another knock, harder this time at
the front door. No voice, just deliberate pounding. Four knocks,
then a pause, then four again. I looked out the
peep hole. Different guy, this time, shorter, heavier, wearing a
pocket with the hood up, face mostly hidden He didn't
try the door, didn't look around, just kept knocking every
fifteen seconds. I didn't answer. I croused behind the couch again,
bat in one hand, fu the other, harp raising hands cold.
I was sweating despite how cold it was. Then I
heard glass crack. The outer pane of the mud room window,
the same one from before, had splintered. Not chatter, just
a whip of cracks, like someone had struck it with
something hard. I didn't look that time. I just stayed down.
Everything felt too quiet after that, like the whole house
was holding its breath again. Then I heard a step upstairs,
just one, a slow creak of wood under pressure. I
didn't breathe. I just stared at the ceiling, waiting for
another sound. A minute passed, then another step. I called
the police again, whispered that I thought some one was
in the house. It said help was pulling into the neighborhood.
I didn't move until I saw red and blue lights
flashed through the curtains. Two officers came in, guns holstered
but flashlights drawn. They swept the place room by room.
No one, nothing except for the spare bedroom window upstairs,
for one facing the back yard. It was open, just
a little, and latch tilted half an inch up. No
footprints outside in the snow, no sign of how anyone
could have reached it, but it was open. They asked
me a few questions, if I'd seen any one suspicious
earlier in the week, if I had problems with anyone locally.
Nothing came to mind. I called my uncle, he lives
maybe twenty minutes away, and came over immediately. I packed
the bag and stayed at his place the rest of
the weekend. My partner, Jewels, was in Denver for a
work thing, conference or training or something I honestly don't remember.
Now I've been looking forward to the weekend alone, not
in a dramatic way, just the kind of a loan
where you can take your time making dinner, watch whatever
weird documentaries you want, and leave socks in the floor
without a comment. The house was warm, the fire was going,
and I queued up an old jazz playlist I hadn't
listened to in years. I poured a glass of wine
and started shopping vegetables for a late dinner. It felt
like the kind of night I used to wish for
when things got loud at walk or when city your
life still pulled at me. Everything felt still in a
good way, at least at first. It was some time
a round eight when I noticed the heat hadn't kicked
on and the room didn't feel freezing or anything. Just off.
I walk over to the thermostat. It reads sixty two.
I usually kept it at sixty eight. No big deal.
I figured the furnace was lagging a bit, maybe the
felda was clogged or the storm was messing with something.
I went down the mental checklist, checked the vents, first fold,
then a break a box. Everything was fine there too.
I could still hear a faint hum of the phonace
running in the basement, so it was completely dead. I
wasn't super worried yet, just annoyed. I texted Nate, who
knows more about this old house stuff than I ever will.
He used to be a home inspector before getting into insurance.
He replied pretty fast, told me to check the int
event and make sure nothing had blocked it. Something about
her phone and how older systems can get fussy. I
grabbed my phone, walked into the hallway toward the int event,
and then stopped there. Felt different, not cold, distiller, the
usual sounds you don't even notice until they were gone,
were just ubsent. The gentle clicks from the baseboards, the
creeks and the floorboards upstairs, even the hum of the
fridge down the hall. It was all just gone. It
felt like the house was holding its breath. I stood
there for a minute, phone still in my hand, just listening.
I'd even then held my own breath for a few
seconds to make sure I wasn't imagining it. But it
wasn't just silence. It was the absence of everything, like
sound had been pulled out of the walls. I tried
to laugh at myself, told myself I'd just got and
spooked because it was too quiet, too still, the kind
of silence that makes your ears ring a little. Then
I opened the basement door. The lights, which flickered once
when I flipped it, then held steady. Not knew old wirrying.
Still it felt more noticeable at night. I started it
down the stairs, one hand on the rail, trying not
to think about anything other than checking the furnace and
getting back to my wine. The basement was how I
left it, unfinished, cluttered and vaguely musty. I keep a
bunch of store it bins down there, tools I rarely use,
and the old fern is tucked away along the far
wall like some relic from a factory. I took a
couple more steps and stopped. There were footprints on the floor,
wet's slush aboot prints tracking across the concrete from the
small window on the far side of the room, directly
to the base of the stairs, where I now stood.
They weren't mine. I hadn't been down there in days,
and when I had, I hadn't been wearing boots. These
were bigger than mine, too wider, with a deeper treat,
and the pattern the spasin of the steps, whoever made them,
had moved, slowly, deliberate steps, all evenly spaced. The window
was shut. The latch looked undisturbed, no cracks, no sign
of anything forced open, just the Prince. I stood there
longer than I want to admit, not even breathing. I
didn't move, didn't check the furnace. I just turned around
and walked back up, one step at a time, locked
the basement door behind me, and leaned against it for
a good ten seconds. Then I started checking the rest
of the house, quietly, carefully, every room, every closet. I
even got how the old step utter and popped the
atticatch open to shine a flas sight around. Not then,
no broken glass, no open doors, no sign that anything
had been touched, but that stillness was still there. Not
the peaceful kind any more. This was the kind that
makes your skin feel too tight. I could feel my
pulse in the back of my neck, just pulsing like
a drum, lud and steady. I called Nate again, this time,
not bothering to hide the edge of my voice. Told
him what I saw, didn't dress it up or try
to sound reasonable. He offered to call the sheriff. I said, no,
what was I going to say? Hey, some one walked
through my seal basement, didn't break in, and now the
heat's not working. Instead, Nate stayed on the fohonm with
me while I walked through the rest of the house again.
We even laughed a little, mostly him trying to lighten
the mood. I think I said something like maybe I
sleep worked down there in buts I dun't own. It
sounded stupid the moment I said it, but it helped.
After we hung up, I locked every window and door again,
then double checked them for good measure. I even waged
a chair under the door knob to the basement, not
something I usually do, but that night it felt right.
I built the fire back up, wrapped myself in a blanket,
and told myself i'd call some one about the furnace
in the morning. Then at ten point thirty, the back
porch creaked, just one step shop definite. Now I've lived
here long enough to know exactly what that sound means.
The top step always creaks when someone steps on. Always.
I walked to the kitchen window slow and stood just
to the side so I wouldn't be visible from outside.
Porch light was on, snow was untouched, nothing there, but
I know what I heard. I shot off all the
light except for the one in the hallway. It gave
me better visibility through the windows without catching reflections. I
stood there, just watching. At exactly eleven o'clock, some one
knocked in the front door. Just one knock, thought slow.
Six seconds passed, another knock, then another three total, each
one spaced exactly six seconds apart. I counted. I moved
to the door, leaned in and looked through the people nobody.
Porch was empty, snow stop effect, no prints, no vehicle
in sight, no tailights on the road, just stillness. Again.
I didn't open the door, didn't move, My hand hovered
near the lock, frozen therefore I don't know how long.
And then out of nowhere, the furnace clicked on, just
like that. He saw itted flowing through the vents like
it had been working the whole time. I walked back
to the hallway. There were stats at seventy I'd never
set it that high. The house didn't feel still any more.
It felt pace, like something I'd shifted gaze, not back
to normal, just ad just that. I didn't sleep. I
sat in the living room with the fire down to glowing,
coal's phone in hand, every cut and close tight ran
through the motion light over the garage clickton and stayed on.
No shadows, no movement to just stayedle it for a
solid thirty minutes. Stan blinked off. Morning came slowly when
the light at side turned gray blue. I checked the porch,
still no footprints. Later that day add a technician come
look at the furnace. He gave it a clean bill
of health, said it was cleaner than most he had
seen that winter. Looked like it had just been serviced.
I didn't bring up the rest For the rest of
that winter, I left boots and a flashlight near every door.
I kept my phone charsed and made sure every lock
clicked twice. I told myself it was just a one off,
something weird, something i'd may be misunderstood. I'd only been
in the house for a couple weeks. It was a
rental on the edge of Downmere, one of those small
towns where the post office closes for lunch and your
neighbor's wave whether they know you or not. The house
itself was nothing special, flat roofs, single story, a little
too much fornoleum, but it sat at the dead end
of a cultstac tuck between a string of mostly identical
ranch homes. What sold me on it, though, was the
back yard, vague folly fence, perfect for Ernie iron Ee's
my dog, half Retriever, half something for Sir. That weekend,
though the place felt off because he wasn't there. He'd
gotten into something earlier that wee coud chewed up a
tennis ball and swallowed some of it, and the vet
wanted to keep him over night just to be safe.
It's amazing how much base one dog can fill. Without him,
the house felt kind of hollow. No clicking nails on
the floor, no what's snout in my lap? Just quiet.
That night, I was doing what I always do when
I don't know what else to do, making tea I
probably wouldn't finish. I had a blanket around my legs
and the old space heat buzzing near my ankles while
I scrolled on my phone, half watching some home re
innovation show where everything's fake arguments and open cons of kitchens.
Then came the knock. It was soft, barely even a knock, really,
just a few taps, like someone's second guessing whether they
should be knocking at all. I paused the show, got up,
and went to the front door without thinking twice. That's
something I still get hung up on, how easy it
was to just open the door without checking first. I
didn't even look through the peep hole, just twisted the
knob and pulled nobody not even a hint of movement.
The porch light was on so I could see pretty clearly.
The snow was still coming down hard, real thick and slow,
muffling everything. I leaned out, looked both directions down the street, empty,
not just of people either. The fresh snow was untouched,
no tracks, no tire marks, no sign that anyone had
been near the house, well except for mine from earlier
I'd taken the trash out before dinner. I could still
see my bootprints leading from the porch to the bins,
stamped clean and shop in the snow. I waited there
a little longer, may be expecting someone to suddenly appear
out of the darkness with an apology or an explanation,
but nothing. Eventually I stepped back inside, closed the door,
and turned the did bolt. I told myself it just kids,
some board teenager looking for a reaction, while maybe it
was one of the nighbors trying to welcome me and
chickening out at the last second. Small town stuff. Ten
minutes later, I heard the second knock, not from the
front this time. It came from the side door, the
one that leads into the kitchen. That door is invisible
from the living room, but the sound was clear. Three knocks,
slow and heavy, not violent, but firm, like whoever was
doing it didn't fildy again. That door's got a frosted window,
the kind that blows everything into vague shapes. I couldn't
see anyone through it. No shadows, no motion, just that
hazy light from the porch bowl outside. This time, I
didn't move right away, just sat there listening. The heater
clicked off. The hall house felt suddenly too quiet, like
it was holding its breath. I stood up, slowly, walked
into the kitchen and flipped the porch light on. Still
no movement. I didn't open that didn't even get too
close to it, just stood off to the side and
washed through the edge of the glass. Then I looked down.
No footprints, not new ones, not mine, nothing. The path
leading to that door had been totally clean before, and
it was still clean now, just smoothed and broken snow.
No tracks leading in, no tracks leading out. And the
weirdest part the footprints I had seen at the front earlier,
the ones I left taking out the trash. They were
gone to, not covered, just gone. That's when the unknees
really set in. I locked the side door, slid the
bolton with a solid click. Then I did a full
path through the house, checked every window, every door, every latch.
Everything was sealed tight, nothing broken, nothing open. It helped
a little, made me feel like I was doing something
instead of just sitting there like a tugget. And then
came the third knock, the time from the back. That's
what did it. The back door led to the fence yard,
fully enclosed six foot boards all the way around. The
gate had been shut since morning. There was no easy
way for someone to be back there, un ness they
had climbed a fence, or unless they were already in
the yard. I didn't have time to think too much
about it. I grabbed the fireplace poker from the stand,
held it like a bat. I moved slow toward the
laundry room, where the back door was. That door also
had blinds. I peeled them back just a bit enough
to peek through nothing. I opened the martyrs gained the porch.
The motion light hadn't come on, but I could still
see most of the yard from that angle. It was
clean and disturbed. The snow and steps were smooth, and
yet I stood there frozen, holding that stupid poker like
it was going to fix anything. Then I saw the
handle twitch. It was tiny, burrely a movement, but it happened.
Someone had touched it. I shouted something loud and automatic,
I'm calling the police. I think that's what I said.
The handle went still, no sound, no movement, just the
creeping sense that something was still on the other side
of that door. Then something slid under it, A piece
of paper, fain, small, warm. It came through slow, like
whoever was on the other side wanted to make sure
I saw it happen. I stared at it for a
long time, didn't touch it. Eventually I backed away, still
holding the poker, still listening for any sound of retreat.
Then I went to the living room and made the call.
The despatcher said it could be a while, rows were rough.
I didn't argue. I sat there, watching the doors, the windows,
the clock. Half an eye passed like it was stitched
out of aires. Nothing happened, no more knocks, no more movement.
When the cop showed up, they checked the yard first,
walked the perimeter. No footprints, nothing on the steps, not
even signs of the gate being opened. I told them
about the note. They picked it up with gloves read it.
Then one of them looked at me and asked if
I wanted to see it. I nodded. It's out a knee,
tiny letters, not leave you are mine, six words, just that.
The paper had a faint water mark, later they told
me it was a page from a Bible, the kinds
some churches leave in hospital chapels. However, road it had
torn it from the inside margin. They bagged it, gave
me a case number, said they'd file a report. That
was it. I stayed at my friend Klop's place for
two nights after that. He had a second bedroom, lots
of locks, and lived on the fourth floor of a
brick building downtown, the kind of place that felt safe.
When I came back to the house, everything was untouched,
no signs of entry, no new prints, no damage. But
something had changed. Every single window, every latch had been
relocked from the outside. I know how that sounds, I
really do, but I checked him before I left. I'm
obsessive like that. The windows in the house only lot
by pushing the latch down from outside of the panes open.
They weren't. After that, I got cameras installed, high end ones,
changed every lock, adopted second dock, a husky ma name Brook, Friendly, loud,
and absolutely not subtle about strangers. It's been two years,
nothing else has happened. My parents had driven up to
Bellwood for that. We canned one of my mum's cousins
passed away, someone I'd only met once at a reunion
years ago. They offered to take me, but I had
classwork piling up, and besides, someone needed to stay with Jonah,
our dog. It was early January, one of those weeks
when everything outside just freezes solid and stays that way.
The snow had already been on the ground for days,
and the night before my parents left we got hit
with freezing rain. Nuts sealed everything in a thin cross device.
It cracked loudly under your boots and made every step
feel louder than it should have been. We lived outside
of town, past the last plowed road, our drive. We
curved him from the south like a hook, long enough
that you couldn't see the house from the main road.
Beyond the back yard was this marshy stretch of frozen wetland,
tall reeds, scattered trees, and more ice. No neighbors in
shouting distance, no street lights, just dark woods, brittle trees,
and a lot of quiet. The first night went exactly
how I expected. I made can tomato soup, sat in
the couch, scroll through some random show I wasn't even watching,
and tried to get a few assignments started Jonah, a
thick fuzzimup weed it. Since I was fifteen, was more
than happy to sneeze next to the heat events. I
let him at once before bed, and he did his
usual routine sniff around the porch, maybe p if he
felt like it, then showed me a look like seriously
this weather and run back inside. Before heading to bed,
I went through the usual motions. Locked the front door,
checked the garage entry it, made sure that the side
door atch was set tight. We had one of those heavy,
a dated dead balls that sometimes needed a hard twist.
I gave it too, just to be sure. Then I
fell asleep to the soft hum of the baseboard heat
ticking alarm. The second night is when thing started to shift.
I was back in the living room around ten. Gionah
was curled up near my feet, half snoring, twitching a
little in his sleep like dogs duw and they're dreaming
about squaws or whatever. I didn't have the overheads on,
just a single lamp near the back window that gave
off a soft yellowish glow. I was tired but not
quite ready for bed, just thumbing through messages killing time.
Jano made the sand low quiet but drawn up almost
like a wine, but it wasn't quite right. It had
this uneasiness to it, not like when he hears the
garbage truck and gets anxious. This was different. I looked
up and he was sitting up now, stiff, ears forward,
staring straight at the sliding glass door that led to
the deck. At first, I figured maybe a raccoon had
wandered too close or something. I leaned forward to see
what he was looking at. That's when I noticed the snow.
There was a pattern out that just passed the edge
of the deck where the yard sloped toward the marsh.
Not a trail exactly, but a shape like some one
out walked in a circle round the house, a tight circle,
hugging the siding, just beyond the deck railing. The prints
were deep and uneven, not delicate little animal tracks, but
clear boot prints. But there was no path leading into them,
and no trail leaving either, just that one loop. I
stood up, slowly, trying not to startle Jonah. He didn't move,
just track my motion with his eyes. I walked to
the glass door and looked out, but the porch light
didn't come on when I flipped the switch. Great, probably
the bulb The glass was cold to the touch. I
pressed my forehead lightly against it, trying to see better.
The circle of Prince just sat there in the moonlight.
Crispin knew. I washed for a minute or two, nothing moved.
I closed the blinds and sat back down. But now
my chest was tight and my brain wouldn't let it go.
I kept picturing some one pacing back there in the
dark while I was distracted on my phone. Around midnight,
I got up to take Joan out again. I clipped
his leash on and grabbed a flashlight. This time. The
cold hit me hard when we stepped outside, that sharp
kind of cold that makes your teethirt. We made it
half way down the driveway when Jones stopped suddenly rigid,
then pulled hard toward the trees at the edge of
the property. No sound, no bark, just pulling like he
knew something was there. I aimed the flashlight. There was
some one standing in the trees. They were maybe fifteen
or twenty feet back, just inside the edge of the woods.
I could barely make them out, just a faint outline
of a person upright still, I saw a pale shape
where their face should have been, and the rest of
them looked like they were in dark clothes, a hood maybe,
were a heavy coat. But they didn't move, not even
a twitch. They were just standing there. Joanah led out
a low in the kind I'd only heard twice before,
once at a Vette's office and once when astray wandered
into the yard. I didn't wait to find out more.
I turned, yanked Joanah hard enough that he stumbled, and
we sprinted back to the house. I didn't even grab
the flashlight when I dropped a half way up the driver.
I slammed the door, locked it and stood there with
my back against it for a long minute, trying to
listen past my breathing. Nothing no footsteps, no vorse, just
that same awful quiet. I didn't sleep that night, left
every single light on, sat in the kitchen with my
phone in one hand and Joana's leash in the other.
I texted my parents something vague, just that I thought
some one might have been outside, and then I was
keeping the doors locked. My dad said to call the sheriff.
I said I would the next night I finally did.
It was a round nine again, maybe a little after
I just heated up some leftovers when I heard it
this loud. Saw it there out of against the side
of the house, not the front door, not the deck.
It came from the far wall, behind the garage, where
there are no lights and no windows. I froze in place.
Then another went closer. This time I called the Sheriff's
on emergency line and explained what was going on. They
said some one would come by, but with the weather
and icy roads, it might be delayed. I said okay,
and hung nap, pacing the living room every step, feeling
like it E could too much. Joanah barked one short,
sharp and ran to the back of the house. I followed.
He was at the glass door again, standing stiff till down,
head forward. The blinds were up. I looked out. There
was a man on the deck, just standing there, maybe
two feet from the door, closer than the night before.
He didn't have his hands raised, wasn't knocking, just standing theissen,
eyes open. His face was washed out in the low light, pale,
mouth slightly open, like he was caught midthought or I
had forgotten where he was. I whispered Joana's name, mostly
just remind him not to bark again. The man didn't flinch.
I backed away and dialed again. Told them some one
was literally on the property right outside. They said a
deputy was near by and would be there within ten minutes.
I stayed in the line. When I looked back, the
man was gone. No sound, no retreating footsteps, nothing but
the dark deck and the same trail of prince circling
behind him. When the deputy arrived, he walked the property
with me. We didn't find anything you except the same
set of prints I'd seen before, No fresh ones leading
off the deck. No explanation. He suggested it was maybe
someone not all their mentally wandering, confused, possibly high, possibly
just looking for shelter. I nodded and agreed, even though
I didn't really buy it. After he left, I couldn't
sit down. I check every window in the house every
ten minutes, like clockwork. Jonah wouldn't settle either. He just
paced the hallway, pausing sometimes like he was listening for
something I couldn't hear. Around two wah am, he growled again,
just once. I didn't even bother with the light. I
just went straight to the kitchen window. There was nothing there.
By morning, I hadn't slept at all. As soon as
it was light enough to see. I bundled up and
went outside. My hands were shaking the whole time, not
just from the cold. I followed the tracks back behind
the house. The snow was so crusted over it felt
like walking on glass. The trail led up toward the marsh,
again white through ven gap in the reeds. But once
you got past that nothing the prince stopped. No return path,
no sign of someone moving forward, just untouched flat snow,
and I stretching out across the frozen marsh. When my
parents got home later that day, I told them enough
to justify why I wouldn't stay home alone again. My
parents had taken a week long trip to visit my
uncle Doug in bell Rage, Kansas. It was just before Christmas,
and since I just wrapped up finals and didn't feel
like sitting through riers of Midwestern Highway, I stayed home
to look after our two German shepherds, Max and Tessa.
We lived in a quiet area outside of rend Falls, ministered,
not suburbs where more rural. Our house sat at the
end of a law on gravel road, surrounded on three
sides by woods. The hindness was an old dry creek
bed that twisted off into the trees. Nearest neighbor was
about a mile away, maybe a little more, and even
they were snowbirds who had already migrated south for the winter.
The house was a weird seven to style split level.
Upstairs was the kitchen and living room. Downstairs had the
bedrooms and laundry, the kind of layout that made footsteps
sound twice as loud depending on where he stood. The
first few nights were totally normal, quiet, freezing. I stayed
up lake gaming, neoked a few furzen burritos, let the
dogs out of every few wurs they tore around in the snow,
came back panting happy. It was boring in the best way.
Then Wednesday night, a little after two in the morning,
the land line ran. Yeah, we still had a land line,
mostly because my mom refused to get rid of it
in case of emergencies. It was one of those beige
plastic wall fones with a cully cord that always tangled
even if no one touched it. The screen said unknown.
I figured it was some robocall or maybe one of
my grandma's friends with a weird number. I picked it up. Hullo.
There was a pause just long enough to be uncomfortable.
Then a man's voice, calm and low, Is Dana there?
It caught me off guard. Dinah. I told him he
had the wrong number. He didn't argue, didn't say sorry,
just hung up. We didn't know any Dana. No one
by that name had ever lived there, at least not
that I knew of. My parents bought the place about
seven years or alive from a retired couple who moved
to Arizona. I figured it was just some mix up,
weird timing, maybe a drunk guye dialing the wrong number.
I forgot about it pretty quickly. But the next night,
same time, same number, same exact question, is Dana there?
This time I said no, wrong number, A bit shopper.
He hung up again. Nothing else. Now I was starting
to feel worried about it. The timing was too precise,
like down to the minute. I unplugged the land line
before heading to bed, told myself it was just a coincidence. Still,
slept with the light on Friday, came and went without
anything strange. I felt stupid for letting it get to me.
I even plugged the phone back in to check messages
and forgot to unplug it again. Then move Saturday was
when things shifted. It had snowed all day, one of
those relentless, sideways blizzards that buries everything and makes the
air feel like it's chewing through your skin. By nightfall,
it was below zero. I brought the dogs in early
and double check the locks. Around midnight, I was danced
as switching laundry loads when I heard of footsteps above me.
Not creaking or how settling stuff, actual footsteps slow, even
crossing the living room. Both dogs tought what they were doing.
Max stiffened, Tess's ears went up like radar. I froze
for a solid five seconds. I didn't breathe, thin silence.
I grabbed the aluminum bat Dad kept by the basement
door and went upstairs, one step at a time. Every
light was off, but everything looked normal. Doors locked, nothing broken,
curtains still drawn. I turned on every light, checked every room,
even opened the co closet by the front door. Nothing.
Eventually I went back downstairs, still clutching the bat. At
two point twenty, the landline rang again. I forgotten I
plugged it back in earlier. I picked it up, didn't
say anything, breathing then the same voice, only this time
just one word, Dana. He didn't ask for her, he
just said the name, like he already knew she wasn't there.
I hung up and yanked the phone cord out of
the wall so hard the little clip broke. Then I
locked my bedroom door for the first time since I
was a kid. The next morning, I called my mamm
and asked casually if she ord doubted given the house
number to anyone. She said no. I didn't mention the coals.
That night, a round eight, I let the dogs out
one last time. Normally they run a few laps and
come right back, but this time they stopped near the
tree line and just stood there, tail stiff, barking, not moving.
I called for them nothing, grabbed my flasklight and stepped
out on to the deck. It was bitterly cold, or
sharp enough to sting your throat. Askan the yard. The
tracks criscrossed everywhere, but then I spotted another set when
I didn't recognize through prints, large coming from the trees,
stopping just at the edge of the yard facing the house.
I didn't see anyone, but the dogs were still barking,
not scared exactly, more like they were warning something off.
When I called them again. They finally came, but slowly.
Both had their heads low, eyes darling to the woods
behind me. I didn't turn around, just got them inside
and locked everything up. That night, I dragged the dining
table in front of the basement windows and sat with
the bat across my knees until sunrise. Sunday afternoon, I
gave in and called the sheriff. I mentioned the beat
prince in the noise upstairs, but left out the calls.
Didn't want to sound paranoid. A deputy came by a
round five. He was friendly, but clearly thought I was overreacting.
He looked around, saw the tracks, said it was probably
a hunter who got turned round of someone passing through.
He reminded me to keep the doors locked, said to
call again if anything changed. I nodded. He left. That night,
I set up one of Dad's old trail cans from
the shed and pointed it toward the woods. I didn't
expect to catch anything, mostly did it for my own
peace of mind. The land line stayed and plugged. At
two point twenty three, it rang again. I stared at
it from across the room. It wasn't even plugged in.
I picked it up there was no dial tone, just
finced attic, like when pushing through a mic. Then the voice,
almost whispering, Dane is called. I dropped the phone. Max
started barking downstairs. Tessa led up, this low gutteral girl.
I'd never heard from her before. I growled the bat
and ran down. The laundry room door was wide open.
The lock had been broken, snapped clean through. Max was
snarling at the back door. Tessa was called behind the
dryer shaking. No one was inside. I checked it every inch.
The next morning, I checked the trail cam three clips.
First at two hundred nineteen a figure man I think,
in a thick coat standing at the edge of the yard,
just standing there facing the house. Second, two hundred twenty one,
he was closer, half way across the snow. I deleted
the footage for set the camera back to bag and
drove straight to my friend Jordan's place, into him Bend.
Just told my parents I was sick and couldn't stay
the rest of the week. They didn't push my lamblord.
A guy named Ray, who mostly kept himself, had offered
me a steep winter discount on this little standalone cottage
near Dresden. It was maybe twenty minutes from the coast
and completely cut off from anything you'd call the town.
Most folks had already left for the season, so it
didn't surprise me that he was trying to keep the
place occupied. Said he didn't like leaving it empty for
too long. That night, around eight, I was standing in
the kitchen heating up left of a soup when I
heard what sounded like a knock. It was faint, barely
even a knock, really, more like the back of some
Montan tapping once or twice, just enough to make me
freeze with my hand halfway to the drawer. I paused
the microwaven waited nod in. I stood still for a minute,
listening hard. The cottage didn't make much noise, aside from
the occasional groan from the wood stove or ice popping
off the roof. This was at it had read them intention,
but still silence. I chalked it up to the usual
old building corks grad a spoon and went to check
the front window, just in case. The porch light, the
one with the motion sensor, it was glowing. I clicked
on automatically. If anything moved within ten or fifteen feet,
it was only supposed to stay on for thirty seconds.
I opened the front door. No footprints, just with snow
from the potch steps all the way down to where
the road should have been. I stared at it for
a long time, not because I expected to see anything.
There was clearly nothing there, but because something felled off.
Not supernatural or anything like that, just that we're prickling
on your neck when you know you're not actually alone,
like some one's just out of sight. The light blinked off.
I stepped back inside, locked the door, both the dead
bolt and the latch, and ate my soup in silence.
Later that night, made ten point thirty, I went into
the bathroom to brush my teeth. It was cold in there,
colder than the rest of the house. I figured it
was just bad insulation until I noticed the window. It
was open, not wide, but enough to let in a
noticeable draft. Inches may be less, but the thing was.
I had definitely closed and latched it earlier that evening.
I remember, because the latch was always annoyingly tight. You
had to really shove it. There was no way it
had slid open on its own. I leaned in. The
snow outside was untouched, no tracks, but the latch was
turned all the way up, like some one had tried
to lock it again from the outside. My skin went
cold all at once, like the kind of drop you
get when you realize you've left your keys in the
door or your front gate swinging open. I closed the window,
latched it again, then pulled down the blinds, like I
was sealing the room off from something. And that's when
I heard it again. Three slow taps, same spot, not
at the door, not in the windows, somewhere along the
right wall of the cottage, the side that faced the trees,
and nothing else. I didn't check. I turned off every
light in the house, sat down in the living room,
where I had a clear view of the motion light
through a crack in the curtain, and waited. Time passed slowly.
I didn't even look at my phone. I just sat
and stared out at the stillness. For a long while,
nothing happened. Then the motion light blinked on. I held
my breath. Thirty seconds passed, it went dark again, Then
ten seconds later it snapped back on. This time I
got up and moved to the people. Nothing cracked the
curtain an inch still nothing, but something felt wrong. That's
when it hit me. The snow was falling again, light
but steady, which meant that even if there had been
some one there, any prince would have already been filled
in erased. I was standing there, staring at the cutten
when I turned toward the hallway and stopped cold. The
bathroom light was on. I hadn't left it on. I
turned it off. When I pulled the blinds, I remembered
the click. The whole house had been dark for over
an hour, and now the bathroom door was cracked and
light was spilling out from inside. I didn't go back
down the hallway. I backed slowly into the kitchen, grabbed
the satellite phone and cold ray no answer, straight to voicemail.
I called again, nothing. Then the power went out. Everything
gone in a snap, no warning, just a dnse gating blackness.
Even the hum of the fridge disappeared. I couldn't see
my own hands in front of me. My breath felt
too loud in the silence, and then I heard it
footsteps above me, slow deliberate movement on the ceiling. The
cottage didn't have a second floor, just an arrow attic
with a poled down hatch in the hallway. I'd never
even looked inside. The steps weren't fast, more like someone
was crawling hands a knee, shifting weight across the boards,
then as off of lk knee pressing down directly above me.
I didn't breathe, I didn't move. I stove completely still
in the kitchen, flasklight still on the counter, too scared
to grab it. I didn't even look up, just stared
at the dark space in front of me, waiting for
the sound to stop. It didn't. I don't know what
finally kicked me into motion, but at some point I
grabbed my boot's coat and keys and slipped out the
front door as quietly as I could. I didn't lock it.
I didn't even close it. All the way I walked
through the dark, through the trees, down the snow covered road,
no light, snow flashlight, just kept moving in a straight
line towards the Mai Highway. Took me nearly an hour.
Eventually a snowbla pass. The driver stopped and radioed the
county sheriff. They took me back. The front door was open,
the lights were back on, and they had a catch.
It was down. I never spent another night there. A
Melvray checked to break the lease, packed up what little
I had left behind, and moved into Krump's studio apartment
in Augusta. And that is the end. Thank you for listening,
and I will see you in the next one.