Sitting in my new house, I couldn't get used to living there. I spent a long time at my old apartment. Seven years I was at the same place, saving up my money and going to college. It was close to the school and I got comfortable. Guess you could say I got stuck in a rut. Then I finally finished school and got a job. Everything just sort of clicked for me. It was awesome, I never really thought it would all happen so fast.
When I was moving in, it felt great. The place was huge, looking back, I don't really know why I wanted such a big place for just myself. At the time, I was only thinking about money and the fact that it was close to my work. It wasn't an old house, it looked like it was built in the nineties or early twenty-first century. Streaming along the floors and ceilings were etched designs of ornamental soldiers and ships. They may have even been handcrafted. Solid white, with a glossy sheen which, during the day, reflected brightness off the hardwood floors and linoleum.
The appliances and furniture were extremely modern. I'm guessing newer than the house itself, but maybe not. However, the fixtures appeared outdated. There was a fuse box in the basement that looked very much older than the nineties. This time gap I found especially bothersome. I was worried about the wiring in particular. Everything else was too perfect though; it was well within my budget and I could even walk to work, so I went through with the agreement.
I still had boxes on the floor and was in the middle of figuring out where to put all my stuff when night came. It had been a long day, and I fell asleep quickly. The radio was blasting, it always relaxed me to sleep since I was a student. An old habit from my days in the dorm rooms, when other people were intent on keeping me awake by being rowdy at midnight. There was a lot to be done the next day situating my belongings. I drifted into a nap on the couch in the living room.
What transpired that first night I cannot explain easily. Mostly, I was made uncomfortable, jarring awake in my sleep with regularity. Nobody could have been in the house. The doors were all locked securely, even the windows had been latched. Making themselves present throughout the early morning hours were startling sounds, which allowed me no peace. They were mostly centered around the upstairs area, but at one point, I swear that someone was talking right next to me, which stopped as soon as I bolted upright. This was unsettling to say the least. I had no intention of simply adjusting, and I walked down the stairs into the basement. There would be much less noise, I presumed, but something hit me as I laid down. The radio was turned off, and it had been since the first time I was aroused.
"You're trying to hurt us!" I heard.
I was stunned to my very core. Scanning the room for a moment, I knew it had not originated from far away. There was no way I was going to sleep in the cellar. My groove had been smashed. Immediately, I grabbed my bedding, and made my way to the upstairs. This notion was not particularly logical, but it was a large house, and I assumed the hushed whispers would be lost to the expanse. Not remembering earlier, when the upstairs had been the source of the babel, all my focus was on getting some rest. Things digressed when I got into one of the bedrooms, where I gently dozed off soon thereafter. I'm not sure how long I had slept before, once again, I was stirred.
The closet door slammed. Instantly, I went into a panic and jumped out of the room. In the hallway, I looked back at the room. It wasn't morning yet, the darkness was still dominating my vision, still I could tell there was blackness lingering on the ceiling huddled in a corner. A shape, that's the best I can describe it, with strands stretching from the form that pooled above the door across the room.
Making my way down the stairs, I heard the sound of footsteps darting around the living room. I was frightened at the thought of even moving past them. Looking at the clock, I noticed the time was 2:34 and it was no wonder I felt tired. I turned the corner at the bottom of the stairs, and my heart stopped at what I saw. Standing at the front door, where I was planning on exiting, stood a lifeless figure. Angular in stature, it suddenly faded a moment after. Distressed as I was, I made it to the porch and decided I would never come back.
I had to pay the rent for that month, but I kept my job, and luckily I was able to afford a new place. There's not even the possibility in my mind of telling anyone about that night. Let's just say that I prefer crowded apartments now. I asked the landlord, "Why is that place so nice, for so cheap?"
He said to me, "The wiring is a little fucked up."
About a week later, authorities found him slashed and gutted in the basement. I heard about it on the radio. The police came looking for him after his family filed a missing person's report. Apparently, not one of them would enter the place until there was nine of them at the ready. They could hear the voices which I knew to be from the basement saying, "He was gonna hurt us."
Written by SoPretentious