Hi there, Reddit. As they say on the radio, I’m a long time listener, first time caller. I’ve been reading all your stories, and I think maybe I have something I can share in return. I don’t know how scary you’ll find what I have to tell, but I can say that this is something that really happened to me. What I’m about to tell you happened around 14 years ago. Thinking about it still manages to keep me up nights sometimes.
Note: Names have been changed for the sake of privacy. *
I hadn’t moved from my sister’s couch in nearly 2 hours. The back of the couch was pushed up against a wall, allowing me to see every corner of the room while still being reasonably certain that there was nothing creeping up behind me. It was the sort of silly thing an overanxious child might do, yes, but right now that’s exactly what I felt like. The rancid cloud of my own paranoia had transported me to that most ubiquitous of pre-adolescent dimensions where a boogeyman resides in every closet, monsters can be banished by the magical glow of a light bulb and safety is ensured by hiding under the protection of even the flimsiest, most humble blanket. You’re being ridiculous. Everyone gets the heebie jeebies, I told myself, and then chuckled a bit. What else are they called - the creeping horrors? Or what about the screaming meemies. It was sort of funny for a moment, but the limp attempt to inject levity into my situation felt flat and forced and my smile faded. I just want to go home.
The day had begun normally enough – a lazy Saturday with nothing to do except whatever I wanted. I’d slept in a bit, but it was still relatively early for a Saturday, not even 10 a.m. I was just settling down on the couch with some coffee to channel surf and enjoy the relative novelty of not having to rush off for work. Score, I thought, delighted; Looney Tunes was on and, even better, it appeared to be uncensored. Just like when I’d first seen it as a kid, I’d get to watch Elmer Fudd blow Daffy’s head off with no interference from the censors.
Bugs and Daffy were just beginning to argue about whether it was duck season or rabbit season when my phone rang. I checked the caller ID to see that it was my mom calling and plucked the receiver out of its cradle. “Hey, pretty lady. How are things in your neck of the woods?” I asked. Mom lived in Mississippi, a far cry from Chicago, where the rest of our family lived. She’d moved down there when my step-dad retired (ironically, so he could be closer to his own family), and she liked to call on weekend mornings when she knew I’d be at home, especially if she was able to catch me sleeping. She liked to sing loudly into the phone while I groaned and pretended her early morning cheer wasn’t infectious. But this wasn’t that kind of call.
“Go help your sister,” she barked.
“What!? What’s wrong??”
Mom’s tone softened slightly, but now I could see that what I’d initially taken as anger was very intense worry. “I just got off the phone with Sam and she’s having a really hard time with the baby. Maybe she just needs to get out of the house, I don’t know. Can you go baby-sit for her? Let her get in a nap or something; whatever she needs. I’m sorry if you had plans today, but you live closest to her and she really needs someone to help her out. Okay?” I hesitated to think about what this would do to my day, but a moment later I heard myself saying, “Okay, mom. I’m on my way.”
“Thank you, baby.” Relief was audible in her voice. “I’ll call and let her know you’re coming.”
I hung up, did a quick mental tally of what I needed to do to get myself together, and headed off to shower and dress. Bustling around the apartment, I threw things into my bag: my cell phone, a couple of books, the DVD rental I’d been meaning to watch – Samantha’s place would be as good as any to see it. I filled a water bottle, and decided to take some food, too – Sam’s idea of a stocked kitchen was a steady supply of leftover Chinese takeout and half-empty boxes of Hostess snack cakes, and I didn’t know how long I’d be there. I packed a sandwich and fruit, added a granola bar for good measure and hurried out the door, sliding into my coat as I went. The roads were quiet, and I made it to her place in no time. Sam opened her front door as I was pulling into the driveway, and I understood that she had been watching for me. She had my niece, Eleanor, in her arms, and was bouncing tensely up and down, patting the baby’s back in a manner that was intended to be soothing but, in my sister’s state of anxiety, was probably anything but. As she looked out from the doorway, I had a moment to study her pale, solemn face and the dark, tired eyes that weren’t quite connected to the small smile she was trying to muster for me. It looked like a grimace. I gathered my things, locked up the car and headed inside.
“Thanks for coming. I really feel like I’m gonna go nuts if I don’t get out of here.”
“Yeah, mom said things were getting pretty rough over here,” I replied, giving her a peck on the cheek and stepping past her into the house. Sam was still doing that rough bounce and agitated pat on the baby’s back that I’d noticed when I pulled up to the house. Now that I was closer, I could hear little noises coming from Ellie that intensified every time another hard pat made contact. EHhhh EHhhh EHhhh. She sounded like a car that wouldn’t start. I set my bag down on the floor and reached out to carefully take my niece from her mother. Nestling her head against my chest, I began to rub her back in slow, smooth circles. I could feel the delicate bones of her body, padded with soft, fragrant baby flesh and, looking down into her face, I thought, We’ll have to make sure your mommy doesn’t lose it and wind up punting your cute little butt across the room. It would be far too easy to break you. Then, on the heels of that, a mental voice piped up in its best Dolph-Lundgren-doing-a-really-bad-Russian-accent to quip, “I must break you.” I smiled to myself and Eleanor cooed in my arms. At least she didn’t sound like a tortured engine anymore.
“So, what are you waiting for?” I turned to my sister, who was still standing at the door in her stained nightgown with a spit-up rag on her shoulder. “Go do something with yourself, already.”
Now, hours later, all I wanted was for that selfish bitch to come home. How could she leave me here for so long? What the hell was she doing? Once she understood that temporary freedom had arrived for her, she’d quickly changed clothes and scampered out of the house like a kid at recess, chattering on about shopping and having a meal that didn’t end with spit-up on her sweater. Just the prospect of getting out of the house seemed to have lifted her spirits. “I should be home before Gene.” Her husband worked hellish hours as the new assistant manager at a Walgreens. “But, if I’m not, he should be home by 6.” This was said as she tugged on her jacket and popped on a ratty chenille hat of such an unhealthy shade of red that I couldn’t help wincing. “Is that a new hat or is it time to change the bandage?” It really was a foul-looking thing.
“Look, it was on sale, alright? Besides, it’s one of the few things I own that doesn’t smell like sour baby milk. Anyway, I’ll see you later. There’s some Chinese in the fridge if you get hungry.” She stopped to drop a soft kiss on Ellie’s forehead, then flitted out the door and was gone.
Ah, well. It wasn’t quite what I’d imagined, but I could still have a nice day with the baby. I hadn’t really planned on going anywhere that day anyway, so I wasn’t missing anything. Maybe I’d read a book to Ellie - I had Watership Down in my handbag. Sure, the story was a little violent in some spots, but babies only cared about tone of voice, right? Then, if I could get her to take a nap, I’d watch my movie and do some housework; Samantha’s place was always a mess and I often straightened up when I visited. At this point, it seemed to be expected that by the time I’d finished my visit her dishes would miraculously be washed and dried, laundry would transform from an amorphous pile of tangled socks and shirts into neatly folded stacks and, inexplicably, the narrow walking paths that cut across the cluttered floors like tunnels in an ant farm would imperceptibly widen until the entire floor was once more visible. Maybe that was why I was always tired after my visits. Anyway, I’d do that later. Shifting Ellie to one arm, I used my free hand to grab my bag off the floor and crossed the small living room to the overstuffed La-Z-Boy chair in the corner. Story time would come first.
I read to her for quite a while, pausing briefly to heat up one of the pre-filled bottles that Sam had left in the refrigerator before continuing to read aloud while Ellie ate contentedly, my book cradled in the hand that wasn’t holding the bottle. Eventually, after she’d eaten her fill and fallen into that sweet sleep that only freshly fed babies can pull off convincingly, I let my voice, husky from use, fall silent. Moving slowly, I put the novel aside and shifted her gently into her carrier on the floor. I watched her resting peacefully for a moment before returning to my reading, but after a page or so I stopped again, listening. It was very quiet. I’m not the type of person that requires some sort of noise all the time to be comfortable, and I usually enjoy my quiet time. But I couldn’t even hear noises from the street, and it suddenly occurred to me that I’d never been in my sister’s house alone before. It was an old house, and when she’d moved in none of us had really understood why she and Gene had chosen the place. But the house had been surprisingly affordable for such a pricey neighborhood, and the schools in that district were supposed to be excellent. It needed repairs, but it was an okay starter home. And property values in that area were so good that even if they only made a few simple updates they could probably sell it at a profit within a few years if they wanted. Anyway, I thought to myself, maybe this is just what it was like without the noise of conversation and a television running in the background. Still, it was rather disconcerting - not just the absence of noise, but the quality of that absence, stiff and hollow. It was what I imagined the air of a padded cell must feel like.
I decided that the reassuring hum of machinery was what was needed and figured I may as well do a load of laundry. I headed through the kitchen to the basement door, pausing only a moment before resolutely opening the door, tugging the cord for the overhead light bulb and descending the narrow stairs to the basement, illuminated by the dull, yellow glow. The floor was littered with small piles of dirty clothing, and I picked my way over them to the washing machine. I selected the appropriate cycle, poured in the detergent and had moved on to sussing out similarly colored bits of clothing when a sensation began on the back of my neck that could only be described as crawling. It was like being watched, only it felt as if the eye sockets doing the looking were filled with maggots instead of eyes. I jerked around to look behind me. Of course, there was nothing there. Sam’s small basement consisted of a small utility area, where the laundry machines were, and two side rooms. One side room housed the water heater, while the other was an old bedroom that now mostly functioned as a place to throw old junk. Neither room had a door, but the weak light from the main area of the basement didn’t do much to illuminate those rooms. I peered into the darkness, rubbing absently at my arms. I had goosebumps. I decided I was being silly, and turned back to the laundry, adding more clothes to the machine, hurrying a little now. The feeling of being watched didn’t fade, and once the laundry had been loaded, I slammed the lid shut and hurried up the stairs, closing and locking the door behind me. Idiot, I chided myself, but I couldn’t deny that I felt relieved to be out of the basement. In any case, I had a little while until the wash would be ready for the dryer. In the meantime, I’d have a cup of tea and watch my movie.
Over an hour later, I was more comfortable, my earlier uneasiness in the basement fading away. I’d since gone back down to put the wet clothes into the dryer without incident, and had already convinced myself that it was nothing. Now I was tidying the living room and the movie I’d brought, The Cell, was on in the background. Eleanor had awoken from her nap and, of course, immediately wanted to be held. I perched her against one shoulder so I could hold her with one arm while keeping the other hand free to pick up clutter and toss it into the small trash bin that I’d set up in the corner for just that purpose. This would have been a perfectly comfortable arrangement for me, except that, after a short while, Eleanor started squirming. I’d turn one way, and she’d twist another. After a few minutes of this little impromptu waltz, I’d had enough. “Okay, Ms. Thing. If you don’t want to be held anymore, you won’t get any argument from me.”
I walked over to her playpen and went to put her down, but the moment she left my arms she began to whimper and her arms immediately came up, silently begging to be picked up again. “Oh, come on, now. I thought you wanted to be down?” Sighing, resigned, I picked her up again and her whimpering quieted, but she still wouldn’t relax in my arms. I didn’t mind holding her, but this was ridiculous – I’d never finish cleaning if she kept this up. I’d turn toward the door and she’d strain to peer over my shoulder. If I faced the stairs, she’d twist around vigorously to face that way, too. I was beginning to be curious; what the hell was she looking at? I turned toward the fireplace. She craned her head to the right. I turned to the couch, and she twisted to the left – always towards the stairs. I walked toward the staircase, trying to figure out what was catching her attention so completely, and suddenly got very cold inside.
That feeling from the basement was back, crawling and perverse against my skin.
Moving slowly, my heart thumping in my chest, I turned around, my back to the staircase, and looked down at the baby. She was gazing intently over my shoulder. I held my free hand up next to her ear and snapped my fingers gently, trying to make her look at me, but she barely glanced around. Something definitely had her attention, and it wasn’t me. And then she took her hand off my shoulder, and reached out. My heart first froze, then lurched with a painful thud as pure fear dumped into my system. I turned my gaze slowly up the stairs, expecting at every moment to find that the most terrifying creature my imagination could conjure was hovering just outside my vision. When I finally mustered every ounce of courage I could to look all the way to the top of the stairs, I found… nothing. I wanted to be relieved that nothing was there, but it actually only succeeded in making me feel worse, as though whatever the baby had been reaching for was only just out of sight, waiting to see if I’d be stupid enough to investigate further. NOPE. I was not going up those stairs. Dumb bitches in bad horror movies went investigating, and it never worked out in their favor. And I was also the babysitter in this scenario, too, wasn't I? I might as well have a "Murder Me" sign on my back if I walked up those stairs. No, thanks.
So, what are you going to do, hold you bladder all night?
Fuck. There was only one bathroom in the house, and it was on the second floor. Well, screw it. I’d pee when I got home.
I backed away from the staircase, ignoring the baby’s twists and turns. That’s enough of that, and I don’t care how much you cry, your little ass is going back in that playpen.
I set her gently into her playpen, ignoring the sounds of protest that immediately began to well from her little body, and tried to tell myself that I wasn’t afraid. That there was nothing there and that I’d put the baby down because I had chores to finish, and not at all because I was afraid that one of these times I’d look down into her eyes and see whatever she was looking at reflected there, looking back at me. I never got back to the chores, though, because I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched – and not by the baby. I didn’t want to turn my back on the stairs, and I’d been on the sofa ever since. Thank goodness I’d brought something to eat. If I’d had a car seat for the baby, I might have simply gone home with her – it was a short ride, after all – and made my sister come pick her up. But how would I explain that? I felt like there was some super-creepy ghost shit going on in your house, so I decided to go home. Yeah, that would go over well. I’d never live it down. There’s a funny thing about pride, though; it becomes less and less important the more afraid you get.
By the time Gene’s car pulled into the driveway, I could barely stand it anymore. The winter days were short, and as the light outside faded and the shadows in the house grew deeper, my sense of foreboding increased. I had every light on the first floor blazing, but the stairwell was almost entirely black, shadows spilling down the stairs with an inky texture that light couldn’t seem to penetrate. Or maybe it’s just my imagination making things worse in hindsight. All I know is that as Gene was walking in the door, I was walking out of it. His surprise was evident. “Hey, where are you going in such a hurry? Don’t you want to wait until Sam gets home?” He looked like he really wanted the company, too, but I had had enough. “No, I have to get home,” pulling on my coat. I rattled off a litany of parting comments about the baby – yes, she’s been fed, of course she was an angel, no problem at all – ending with a parting shot of “Bye! Take care!” I called it over my shoulder, trotting to the car. Yes, yes, I’m a bad person. Now that I was out of the house, my relief was overwhelming, but my bladder was practically bursting. I’d was going to need to stop at a gas station on the way home or things were going to get messy.
I climbed behind the wheel, and tossed my bag into the passenger seat of the car. I started the car and started to give the house one last look before pulling away, when something caught my eye and made my breath stop in my throat. It was the 2nd floor window that I happened to know belonged to the baby’s room. The blinds were closed except for a gap in the center. It looked for all the world as though someone were looking out at me. As I watched, they snapped closed. I fled.
I’d like to say that’s the end of the story. I was babysitting alone and I gave myself the willies. Overactive imagination and all that. And that’s not the last time my sister called with a last-minute babysitting request. “I just need to get away,” was usually the reason, and I could understand. She was a first-time mom, and maybe the stress was getting to her. But from then on when she called me I would always ask her to drop off the baby at my place, or I would come pick the kid up. Things eventually settled down though, and for a while I didn’t get any calls at all. And then I found out why. Not from Samantha, though. I heard the story from my mom.
We were having one of our weekly calls, and for some reason the topic of Samantha’s house came up. They were having some repairs done on it.
“I still don’t know what they see in that place,” I said. “Yeah, I know the price was right, but it’s old and, I don’t know… Kind of creepy.”
“Yeah... She had it blessed, you know.”
“Uhm, what? Did you say she had it blessed?” I was hoping I’d misheard her, but I was terribly afraid that I hadn’t.
“Yes, she and Gene had a priest come by to bless the house.”
“Why?” My lips felt numb asking the question, but I had to know.
“Well, you know how she’d been feeling really stressed and asking you to come babysit? We had a long talk, and she admitted that a lot of how she was feeling seemed related to how she felt inside the house. She said she was always feeling watched and afraid. Sometimes she’d be in her bedroom and feel eyes on her, but when she looked up there wasn’t anyone there.” At that part I got chills all over, remembering experiencing that same feeling myself. My mom continued, “It’s hard enough having your first baby, but the fear and stress seemed to really be ruining what should have been the happy time for her of being a new mom. And remember your sister wasn’t working after the baby was born, so she was at home all the time. As time went on, your sister said she would see movement when she was in the baby’s room, always out of the corner of her eye, as though something was just outside her field of vision. And then there were the whispers.”
“Jesus, mom, are you kidding me?”
“No. One time she said she was standing at the head of the stairs and she had an overwhelming urge to throw the baby down them, like something was urging to her to do it. Do you remember that time I called you and asked you to go see her, and that it was an emergency?” I could only nod silently on my end of the phone, but she kept talking as if I’d given her a confirmation. “That was when she was thinking of hurting the baby. I told her that from then on, any time she felt like that again, she should call you. I said you’re her sister and you’d always help her. And you did. I was so afraid for them that day, and you have no idea how much I appreciate you looking out for your sister while I’m so far away.”
And that’s when the full horror of what my sister had gone through really struck me. See, when she and Gene had the baby, they had decided that since his job paid so well she would be a stay-at-home mom. But that meant my sister had been stuck in that house morning, noon, and night with whatever it was that I hadn’t even been able to tolerate for one day.
“But that wasn’t what made her get the house blessed.”
I was floored. “All that, and that wasn’t what did it? What else could it take?”
“Well, she thought it was all in her head. Some sort of extended post-partum issues or something. Maybe just being alone all day was making her paranoid. What really did it was the blinds.”
And that’s when I just about wet myself. “What about the blinds, mom?” I asked carefully.
“Your sister began noticing that when she left the house for errands, she would come home and the blinds in the baby’s room window would be open, just like someone was peeking out through them. But when she’d go up to the room to check, the blinds would be completely closed.”
“One day, she happened to look up as she was walking into the house holding your niece, and the blinds were open again. This time, though, she swears to me she actually saw hands. The blinds snapped shut as she was looking at them. She called a church that same day.”
So that's my tale. Like I said before, it was many years ago. My sister and her husband went on to have 2 more kids after that, a boy and another girl. My eldest niece is now in high school, a pretty young woman with a good head on her shoulders and a love of sports. They all still live in that house, and they seem happy. Whatever was there, real or imagined, must be gone. But to this day I have never been alone in that house again. And when I go to visit, I studiously avoid looking at the 2nd floor windows. I never know what might be looking out at me.
Submitted October 02, 2014 at 11:06AM by wetmosaic http://ift.tt/1x10FjY nosleep
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