Speaker 1: Matter is subject to debate. Light technically has substance the
skimming of animated photons across various molecules, with a little
heat in the form of radiation thrown in for good measure.
So it would be, in an abstract way, logical for
that same substance to exist In the antithesis. Darkness is
the absence of light, of heat, and of energy. But
what if there were another form of darkness, something palpable,
something tangential. Imagine if you feel darkness itself and feel
it on your skin like a ray of warm sunshine.
It would be frightening or worse still, imagine if something
could come from that darkness and touch you. I was
touched by something from the darkness. This is my story.
It seems too good to be true. What's the catch?
The house must be haunted, I said to the landlord,
as he absent mindedly scrolled on his phone. What's with
all the stuff? He looked up at me with a
perplexed expression. Huh uh oh. Yeah. The old tenant moved
out about three weeks ago, left all the furniture and stuff.
Hence why I listed the house as fully furnished. Keep
whatever you want and toss the rest. I don't care.
It ain't my stuff, he said, as he went back
to checking his phone. The backyard's fenced in, obviously, and
the doggy door here is open if you have a dog.
There's an extra deposit of two hundred and fifty dollars.
I walked through the three bedroom, two bathroom home, again
built in the nineteen fifties, The one story brick structure
was a simple rectangle divided into rooms, a common design
back in the day. It had fallen by the wayside
in the name of open concept floor plans long ago
shotgun houses. They used to be called I remember my
grandmother saying that phrase once upon a time. Still it
had been recently remodeled, didn't reek of cigarette smoke like
a few of the other places I had seen for rent.
Trying to find a decent place within driving distance to
work for under eighteen hundred dollars per month was nearly impossible.
When the home just off Clifton Road sprang up on
my app I thought it was a scam. I perused
the built in shelf in the den which surrounded the
wood burning fireplace, large thick books on anatomy, psychology, and
the like filled at least three of them. One book
stood out. It was faded green and lacked a dust jack.
I started to remove it from the shelf, but left
it hanging slightly. Ajar, these weren't my things to touch.
There sure are a lot of medical books here. She
worked at Big wake Over on Newburn Avenue. It was
a short drive for her, but she found something else.
Might have been a traveling nurse. I don't remember, he mumbled.
I inspected the couchs thoroughly before walking into the bedroom.
The lovely wooden French doors opened to a long hall
away from the rest of the home. I pulled the
sheets up and checked the corners of the mattress for
signs of bed bugs. You want the place or not,
little lady. I have another person coming in an hour
to look at it. Should I cancel him or he
called from the kitchen. Let's do it, I told the
man proudly, as I walked back down the hall. Contracts
on the island sign all three initial where I have
the little tabs. Rent is due on the seventh, late
two months and you're gone. I will pro rate this month,
since it's already the second weekend. Everything in here is
yours now? Well, that sounds fair. When can I move in?
His hand vibrated softly as I asked the question soon
as you sign, do you mind if I take this
in port and call my new landlord said as he
pushed through the screen door and went to the back deck.
I quickly read the document over and signed each one meticulously.
My first lease, I was officially on my own. It
had been hard coming right out of the university to
find a place to stay. Apartment prices were insanely high
in Wake County, but I had lucked into a one
thousand square foot home. It would be all mine for
the next eighteen months. I thought, No, she isn't as
pretty as the last one, not by a long shot.
More of a normy, I thought. U nc W grads
were all hotties, being from the beach and all. Guess
she's the oddball, I heard the man say on his phone.
As long as the rent gets paid, I don't care.
Hopefully she doesn't vanish in the night like the last
one did. Excuse me, what did you just say about me,
I asked, incredulously. He looked at me with an annoyed
expression and pointed to his phone. He saw I had
the signed contract in my hand, and he snatched it quickly,
flipping through the pages. He nodded in satisfaction and gave
me a thumbs up with a smile as he continued
to walk. He walked off the porch and got into
his car, and he was gone. Two days and a
large U haul truck later, I was completely moved in.
As I removed the small things I brought from their boxes,
I realized quickly I did not need most of what
I brought Lenen's plates. It was all still there. The
cableman came and went without issue use, and I streamed
music from a small speaker as I moved throughout my
new abode, glass of chilled wine in hand. It was
late when I finally got to the last box, and
it contained a small basket given to me by my
late mother. I hoisted the cardboard container up and my
hand found the massive hole in the side. No, no, no,
I said, as I hastily cut through the packing tape.
Something had punched through the side while in the truck.
I ripped out the packing paper and stuck my hand
into the box. The basket had splintered into pieces. It
was handmade, woven together from thin strips of pliable North
Carolina ashwood. I would never find another like it. It
was wildly and a little crooked, but it was from
my mother. My heart sank, but I couldn't bring myself
to toss it. A few soft tears ran down my
cheeks as I thought of her. She never saw me
walk the stage at Wilmington to receive my diploma. She
didn't get to hear my excited phone call to tell
her that I had found a place of my own.
I wanted to tell her these amazing things, to share
the experience with her, but I couldn't. And I laid
the broken pieces on the kitchen table, and my night
was ruined. I preloaded the coffee maker and decided to
go to bed. I took one last glance at the
ravaged basket before I turned the lights out. My first
evening there, I had fitful sleep. I woke with the
sun bursting onto my face through the curtainless window. I
tried to turn away, but I found I couldn't move.
I tried, but I was stuck. I could not even
move my head and my neck. My ears rang with
a deep vibration and panic gripped me for an instant.
Was I going to die? I only graduated six months ago,
and now my life ends here. In my first night
in my new home, the fear subsided as my feet
became tingly. I could wiggle my toes. After a few moments,
my entire body slowly returned to normal. The process took
a few minutes, but those minutes were stretched along infinitely.
When the scorching rays of the sun slap you in
the face at six in the morning, I need to
get some blackout curtains today, I said aloud. As I
finally regained control of my body. My steady breathing returned,
and I sat up in bed now immediately reached for
my phone. It was six six a m. I opened
Chrome and typed in can't move when I wake up?
And then scan the results. The top bar read sleep paralysis,
and I click the link from the National Health Service
and I read through the information. It said sleep paralysis
could be caused by disrupt in sleep patterns. Suppose moving
is a disruption of sleep, I thought. I stepped onto
the plush carpet of the bedroom and opened the double doors.
A board groaned in protest as I stepped onto the
hardwoods in the hallway. The strong scent of fresh coffee
waffed it down the corridor to my nostrils. Each step
drew me closer to sweet, delicious Columbian goodness. My toes
danced in anticipation of that first sip. I stopped dead
in my tracks as I entered the kitchen. The basket
sat on the table. A vibrant ray of sunshine illuminated
it in its perfect form. I rushed to it and
immediately picked it up. I could see differences in color
where new strands of wood had been used. It was
no longer off kilter. It was perfectly shaped. I dropped
it onto the table and I took a step back.
What the hell, I said, It's not possible I saw
it broken into pieces or did I dream it somehow?
Deciding to see someone, I took myself to the urgent
care clinic in Nightdale, and I spoke to a physician's assistant.
She told me there was nothing in the way of
medications that had proven effective in stopping sleep paralysis. She
said people used to think it was caused by demons
in your home, which would sit on your chest, but
that it could cause visual and auditory hallucinations, as well
as cloudy memory. My mind immediately ran to the basket.
Was my memory distorted from the sleep paralysis? Was it
ever really broken? No, I remember the basket. It was
crude crafted by an amateur during her final months of
life in physical therapy. Something was terribly wrong. I returned
home with a bag of takeaway chicken tenders, and I
sat at the kitchen table and stared at the basket.
I chewed a tender with an open mouth while my
eyes burned into the ash wood. You are not the
way I left you, I said to the basket. I
know it, and you know it. So what's the deal,
I asked, as I jabbed a cold French fry in
its direction. Okay, fine, don't talk to me, but we
will get to the bottom of this. I spent the
afternoon setting up my computer and streaming a show as
background noise. I would have to get back to work Monday,
and I wanted to be ready that night. I turned
in around eleven. I began to drift off to sleep,
and my phone blaring a video of a makeup channel
I subscribed to. I heard a creak and I realized
one of the two doors to the bedroom was slightly
a jar. As my eyelids became heavy, I felt a
vibration in my ears. It was nothing painful, but it
was still something I could feel. It seemed to grow louder,
or perhaps it felt louder. I wasn't sure if I
was hearing it or feeling it. I wiped my dry
eyes and I realized I still had my contact lenses in,
and I blinked a few times, and I screamed. A
large pair of glowing eyes stared at me from the corridor,
and when I screamed, they appeared to move back slightly.
Almost startled, I heard the creak again the floorboard I
had stepped on earlier. Something was there, and it blinked
rapidly a few times, and then suddenly vanished without a trace.
I sat there, stunned. What the hell could that have been?
I don't dare move from my bed, and fear utterly
gripped me. There was a strange clanking sound from the kitchen.
Something was definitely moving inside my home. After a few moments,
it ceased. I didn't sleep the entire evening and only
moved when the sun arose. I gripped my softball back
tightly with sweaty palms. As I walked down the hall
to the kitchen, my coffee maker clicked softly with the
fresh brew. I didn't remember loading it the night before.
Did I do it instinctively? Out of habit? I called
the landlord immediately, mister Burke, there was something in the
house last night, some kind of creature. It was in
the house and it was staring at me.
Speaker 2: Well, did you close the doggy door when you moved in?
Speaker 1: The doggy door, I stammered. I turned around and walked
to the den to look at the back door. There
it was a tiny black flap and awe staring me
in the face.
Speaker 2: Yeah, the doggy door. I told you that when you
moved in. Did you forget about it?
Speaker 1: When I didn't reply, he laughed.
Speaker 2: Sounds like you had a raccoon visit. You probably rummaging
for some leftover food.
Speaker 1: Well, how did it get over the fence? Raccoons are
too fat, he laughed.
Speaker 2: A raccoon will do anything for scrap food, and the
fences wooden. It probably climbed over. Close it up and
call it a night. The block is in the coat
closet by the back door. It's a wooden plank that
slides over into the doggy door frame. Is there anything
else you need? Well?
Speaker 1: I felt like an idiot. I said my goodbyes and
I hung up. I opened the closet door, and sure enough,
there was a wooden plank of the exact size of
the door. I slid it into place and wiggled it
a few times to make sure it was in place correctly.
Satisfied with the effort, I started my day properly. The
coffee was perfect and a cream cheese bagel made me
feel better. I took a long, warm shower and opened
my computer for work. That night, no critters entered my
home and I slept blissfully and without worry. My week
went uneventfully, and I procured my blackout curtains and hung
them myself. Sleep came much easier for someone working what
amounted to a second shift with the sun blocked out.
It was Friday night and I had just logged off
the computer after a long meeting with clients from Europe.
Companies in Sweden put in their IT tickets at the
end of the day, and I stayed up all evening
to make sure their software work when they logged in
the next day with a five hour time difference. Going
to bed at one in the morning was a regular occurrence,
and I was mentally exhausted and decided to relax. I
poured myself a drink and grabbed a book from the shelf.
The faded green text caught my eye again. With a
book in hand, I grabbed my wine and I wrapped
up in the warm sheets. Upon opening the groaning spine,
the cover page took me aback sleep paralysis. Visitors from
the other side of the door. Did the previous tenant
have bouts with sleep paralysis? That couldn't be a coincidence.
I flipped to the first chapter and I began to read,
but the wine went straight to my head. The room
spun ever so slightly, and a soft hum started to
make my head feel fuzzy. I gently tapped the base
of the bedside amp to turn it off and laid
my head down against the silk pillowcase, and I was
asleep within a minute. My eyes snapped open instantly. I
knew that sound. It was the board in the hall.
It was ingrained in my brain after the other evil.
With my vision blurry, I fumbled desperately for the light,
and in my heightened state of alarm, I slapped the lamp,
turning it on but also knocking it to the floor.
The shade landed with a crunch, and the lamp rolled
from side to side on the soft carpet. I pulled
my glasses from under my pillow and hastily positioned them
on my nose, and I wish I hadn't. A set
of long, spindily pale fingers creeped over the footboard of
the bed. It grasped the wooden frame, followed quickly by another.
They were gnarled and had four or five knuckles. The
fingernails were yellowed, and the skin around them appeared to
be raw, like an open wound. Two gargantuine ears, the
size of a human hand perked up out of the darkness.
They were rigid and erect and pale and distorted. The
insides were a muddled pink. I gasped, and they instantly
redirected toward me, like the ears of a hunting dog.
The nails dug into the wood slightly, and two large,
bulbous eyes rose slowly inch by inch. They were the
size of lemons, jaundiced yellow and semi luminescent. The creature's
face crept above the board, I switching ever so slightly
as it looked me over. The small angular face had sunken,
skeletal cheeks, and the nose was merely two slits in
the face above the thin, cracked lips. My voice caught
in my throat, a scream silenced by utter terror and
the soft rocking of the lamp. Distorted shadows danced across
the morbid visage of the human, like emp before me.
The ears began to twitch rapidly until they appeared blurry,
and my ears, in turn began to hum. It was
the same hum I heard before I went to bed.
It made my head spin and caused a wave of
nausea to wash over me. In a single swift motion,
it leapt to the footboard into view. The whole thing
must have been less than three feet tall if it
stood up. The legs were strong and muscular, but then
the feet were massive, like the feet of a rabbit
or a kangaroo. The body was horribly emaciated, with the
ribs clearly visible through the taut almost albino's skin. A strange,
hairless tail wrapped around the feet and thumped softly against
the wooden bed frame. It had something held tightly by
the tail, using it like a gripping appendage. The arms
were gaunt, nearly twice the length of its legs, and
riddled with scars. It huffed softly in short bursts, like
a flat faced dog with breathing problems. The creature put
the palms of its hands together and opened them up,
displaying three fingers and a thumb on each hand. It
wriggled the fingers out, forming something akin to the shape
of a spider. Each finger seemed to move independently of
the others, like they each had their own wrist joint.
I screamed a deep, harsh, shrill scream, and the amp
fell from the foot of the bed, letting out a
yelp as it clattered to the floor. I tried to
peer over the top of the bed to see where
it had gone, and the bantam monster scrambled across the floor.
The light of the lamp shone like a spotlight against
the wall. It cast a harsh shadow in the corners,
and the amp scampered quickly out of the light in
short bursting hops. In one bound, crossed several feet of
space and into the wall. Only it didn't crash into
the wall. It seemed to jump through the wall, and
then it was gone. The object held by its tail
thumped softly on the floor, and I climbed out of
the bed and cautiously walked to the spot where the
creature vanished. I listened closely for any sounds, as if
it had gone inside the wall, but there was nothing.
After a pregnant moment, I stole a glance at the
thing on the floor. I was astounded. It was a basket,
A small basket, maybe big enough for a phone. It
was intricately woven from what appeared to be some kind
of black wood. It was perfect in every way. The
realization dawned on me, and I began to panic. Had
that thing repaired my mother's basket? Did it see me
when I cried over it? Did it make this for
me like a gift? I did not sleep for three
days after that. I stayed in a hotel room until
that Thursday, with out a second of rest. I called
the police, but my home was locked up tight from
the inside. And I looked at the pictures of monkeys
and animals with maine and any other abnormal creature I
could think of, and I found nothing that would explain
a hairless, nearly albino thing that could make baskets and
vanish into shadows. That Friday, I finally went home and
I walked in the door to the rank odor of
rotten food, several pieces of fruit spoiled into a sticky,
sweet ichor. On my counter, I saw an apple that
had small bites taken out of it, and I scanned
the kitchen for any sign of the little imp. The
coffee pot was haphazardly loaded with grounds. The dried black
dunk of a four day old cup sat burned onto
the bottom of the pot. I know I did not
do that. It had returned at some point for me.
Perhaps it thought I wouldn't return like the other person did.
And I checked each room meticulously but found no other
evidence of its presence. Deciding it was safe, I settled
down in my bed and I locked the bedroom doors
from the inside, and I finally fell asleep. I woke
with a start. The room was dark, with the old
digital alarm the only source of light. I wanted to
reach for my eyeglasses on the bedside table, but I
found I couldn't. My eyes were open, but I felt
as if I were not fully awake. I willed myself
to move, but nothing happened. I was stuck in my bed,
lying on my left side. The first pang of anxiety
washed over my body, and the thought occurred to me
that something was definitely wrong. The feeling was momentary, and
I realized this was just another bout of sleep paralysis.
I tried to and I tried to say something to
gain a bit of control. It's okay, the doctor said,
it will pass in a few minutes, I told myself. Unfortunately,
my lips did not move. Instead, it sounded more akin
to gurgling mumbles. I would have laughed a little if
I had been able to. At least I was in
a comfortable position. I began to calm down a bit
when my astigmatism riddled eyes caught movement near the bedroom doorway.
Was there something really there or was it part of
the mild hallucinations from the sleep paralysis. A creaking board,
soft and subtle, was as loud as a gunshot in
the deathly silence, and I knew that creek. It was
the loose board right in front of the double doors.
To my bedroom. In the soft green glow of the
alarm clock, a silhouette slinked into the room. It seemed
to pass right through the sturdy wooden frame without any issue,
a darkness which was darker than the very shadow that
it came from. It hopped on two back legs, almost
like a deformed wallaby, without making so much as a sound.
The awkwardly long arms dragged along the carpet as it
hopped toward my bed. It drew near and the tapedum
lucidum and the lemons sized eyes created an other worldly illumination,
much like a nocturnal animal. They seemed to glow in
the dark as they stared directly at me, unblinking. That grotesque,
hairless thing crept right up to my bedside, clicking its
tongue and thin lips together in a sound that reminded
me of popping bubbles. In one sudden burst of speed,
it sprung up onto the bed and landed on my hip.
The gangly malformed hands grasped me by the shoulder with
impossible strength. The grip was like a vice, and it
rolled me over onto my back and stared down at me.
And it sat on my chest, the thin worm like
tail slapping aimlessly against the bed covers. I could do
nothing to fight the thing back. I could only lay
there helpless. It lazily turned my head to the side
and ran its tongue, a fat, disgusting lump of flesh
against the hooked, yellow finger nail, over and over, like
it was cleaning itself. But no, it wasn't cleaning itself.
I realized it was lubricating its finger. The eyelids retracted
to reveal the full size of the bulbous orbs, and
it slowly carefully jammed the finger into my ear canal, stretching.
Sensation burned momentarily, but I was soon overwhelmed with a
searing pain. I could feel the nail push my ear
drum to the side and continued deeper, and I wanted
to scream. I wanted to die. This was a violation,
and I was defenseless against it. Warm blood began to
feel inside my ear, and sound was drowned out by
the steady thump of my own heart as my blood
pressure skyrocketed. Perhaps I would just have a heart attack
and die so I would not have to endure whatever
this thing planned for me. Next, I squeezed my eyes
shut as tears ran down my face, hoping and wishing
and praying for it all to be a terrible dream.
In an instant, the pain ceased. A warm, fuzzy feeling
permeated my joints. It was delightful. My mind seemed to spin,
but not in a dizzy, nauseous way. I slowly opened
my eyes and they needed time to readjust to the
blanketing darkness. Had this all been a dream? My mind
was overwhelmed with an outpouring of emotions. My stomach cramped instantly,
and I would have winced in pain if I could have.
I was hungry. It was an immeasurable hunger, as if
I had not eaten or drank anything in days. This
must have been the sensation that came with starvation. A
massive wave of sorrow rolled over me. It was an
overwhelming sense of loneliness, like I had been alone for
a thousand years, no friends, no family, not even another
human soul to talk to. It felt like a crushing
weight so heavy I could never get out from under it.
The confusion faded as I regained my grip on consciousness.
If it were all a dream, what I woke to
can only be described as a nightmare. The creature was
still there, and it sat on my chest, just below
my collarbones. The finger was still jammed in my ear,
almost to the knuckle. It looked down at me. His
head cock to the side, and the massive bat like
ears were protruded forward and out. It rotated its head
back and forth like a dog hearing a ce word
for a treat. The lips were distended and the lower
one quivered slightly. A droplet of drool spattered onto my nose,
and it was smiling at me. It was a hideous,
demented smile, showing row upon row of jagged, snaggled teeth.
With its left hand, the double jointed, morbidly long fingers
ran through my scalp with machine like precision. They bent
and twisted in emotion. I could feel, but I could
not keep up with I knew the feeling though. My
mother used to do the same thing when I was
a child, as she would lull me to sleep. I
could almost hear her voice as she hummed, hush, baby,
don't say words. Mammy, buy you a bird. My mind
cracked in a moment of insanity, and the first words
were inhuman mutated, but as it finished the line from
the lullaby, it sounded soft and soothing. This thing, this monster,
was trying to sing to me in my mother's voice.
As it braided my hair. It was in my mind
these feelings. They weren't my feelings. The crippled pangs of hunger,
and the confusing mixture of nervousness and infatuation, the overwhelming
burden of soul crushing depression. They were coming from it.
I was thinking its thoughts, I was feeling its feelings.
The hand worked at a feverish pace. My left leg
jumped suddenly. I was regaining my ability to move. The
massive eyes glanced at the movement. It looked back at me,
blinking rapidly. Sh It whispered to me. The fingers doubled
their efforts and spun intricate braids on the other side
of my head. I bounced my wrists slightly. A long,
padded foot like a rabbit, pushed down on my hand.
I felt the retractable talons, ever slow slightly, dig into
my exposed flesh. Almost done, I began to find my voice,
and it started as a low murmur. I screamed inside
my mind, but each time I did, the stumbling sound
grew louder. The spider like appendance turned my head face
up and retracted from my head. A moment later, it
pressed hard into my chest, and it felt like an anvil.
The strength this diminutive abomination possessed was impossible to fathom.
I could feel the finger begin to squirm out of
my ear canal, and with a moist PLoP, it came free.
The amp held the finger to its face and inhaled
the coppery scent of my blood through the slits Just
over its upper lip. The bumpy, blistered tongue protruded, and
the face was suddenly just inches from mine. Slowly the
tongue touched my chin. It was feverishly hot, and it
probed my face up. The side of my lip, passed
my left nostril and lopped lazily on my cheek. My
chest jumped suddenly as I regained control of my limbs,
and I rolled onto my side and tumbled out of bed.
The creature landed flatly on its two kangaroo feet and
bounded across the room. It was shadow in the corner
seemed to open and engulf it, and it was gone.
I stared, barely able to see, as a small trickle
of warm blood coursed down my ear lobe. It followed
the slimy streak of spittle the creature had left on
my face and on my hands and knees. I sobbed
on the bedroom floor until I threw up. The next day,
I called my father and I told him I needed
to move immediately and needed a place to stay. He
offered to let me crash in his spare room until
I got back on my feet. He drove up from
the seaport and picked me up that evening. I left
everything there, just like the last tenant. I didn't even
care about my own things. I just wanted to get
the hell out of there. As I rode in the
passenger seat of his truck, I looked out the window
at what should have been my dream but was instead
a living nightmare, and from the open curtains of the bedroom,
a pair of yellow, luminescent eyes stared at me, unblinking.