Creak nosleep

“I'm obligated to tell you a violent death occurred in this property. Two tenants' son killed them and their younger son four years ago.”

I had moved halfway across the state in order to attend a certain university. It had a fantastic pathology program and was affordable. I had earned my Bachelor's Degree online and needed to attend a physical university until I graduated in eight to ten years.

I had originally been looking for a one bedroom house but I fell in love with a sizable, well kept two-bedroom house for under eighty thousand dollars. It was a bit above my budget but it was such a nice house. It was perfect.

“Is that why the price is so low?” I asked.

“Yeah.” The realtor appeared worried, as if that information would change my opinion of the house. “A lot of potential buyers have walked away after finding out a triple homicide occurred here somewhat recently.”

I laughed. “What, am I supposed to believe it's haunted? I'm still interested.”

As I began to unpack, I thought about what I could do with the extra room. What about a small art studio for Veronica? She would be so surprised when she moved in. I would start buying materials once I got my next payche...

Scritch, scritch.

Rats? I should have taken the cat, but Veronica insisted on keeping him.

Creeeeeak.

I looked up at the ceiling. I should have expected this when buying an older house. I hoped this wouldn't keep me awake at night.

I stared at the box in front of me, in the middle of my unfurnished living room. BOOKS was sloppily written on the side. I was sure I moved that box to the spare room the night before. Was it there when I left that morning? I grunted as I picked it up and carried it to the spare room. I set it against the wall.

Scritch, scritch.

“Shut up, rats.” I muttered as I walked out if the room.

A rather vulgar rock song began playing from my pocket. I pulled took out my phone and grinned when I saw Veronica's face and name. I put my thumb on the green circle and dragged it to the left.

I put the phone to my ear and went into my room next door. “Miss me already?”

We had known each other since the first grade and we started living together when we were both nineteen. At twenty-two, this was the first time I would be away from her for so long.

“Oh, shut up. How's the house?”

“Pretty good.” I lie on the bed and stare up at the ceiling. “I think there are rats but the nearest neighbor is a few blocks away.”

“Fair trade, huh?”

“Yeah. How's my baby?”

Veronica laughed. “Agatha's fine. It's been a day.”

“So what?”

Agatha was our cat. She was wandering around our apartment complex, small and emaciated. After we brought her in, she was the most affectionate cat either of us had ever had. I made sure to let everyone know Veronica picked her name.

My head rolled to the side.

“Helloooo. Jia!”

I sat up and lifted the empty red mug When did I bring a drink in here?

“Sorry, what did you say?”

“I said I think she misses you. She's been lying by the front door since I got home from school.”

“Aw.” I said. “I'm tired and have to work early. I'll call you tomorrow.”

I had noticed things would be moved or missing constantly. The doors and windows would always be locked when I got home. I didn't understand.

I thought I heard shuddering breaths coming from the vent as I searched for the remote I thought I had left next to the television.

“Hello?” I reluctantly called.

Not unexpectedly, no one answered. I was going crazy.

After locating the remote on the kitchen counter for reasons I couldn't explain, I went to my room. I pulled my work shirt and pants out of a drawer and threw it on my bed. I opened the drawer next to it.

“What the hell?” I muttered.

I could have sworn I had more underwear. Groaning, I pulled out a bra and unsightly period-stained boyshorts. I grabbed my work clothes and went to the bathroom to shower.

Creeeak.

I jumped, then scowled. The realtor never told me how annoyingly loud the house was. I bet the murders weren't the only reason no one wanted this stupid house.

“Panty-stealing ghosts.”

“Yes.”

“You're a fucking moron.” Veronica said, but I could hear her stifling a laugh. “Your shit is going missing because you're forgetful and don't do laundry when you should.”

“Say what you want, but they stole my damn carrot cake.” I grumbled, rifling through the sparce refrigerator. “And the strawberries!”

“Did the ghost steal your homework too?” she teased.

“No, unfortunately.” I slammed the fingerprint-covered metal door shut.

“When get there in three months, nothing will go missing. I'll restore order to the house.”

“Yeah, right. You're paying to get the paint out of the carpet–”

A door slammed.

“I have to go.” I said quietly.

Sounding a bit confused, Veronica said, “Love you, bye.”

I hung up without responding and slid the phone in my pocket. I slowly opened a kitchen drawer and removed a steak knife. I listened for a moment before slowly sliding the drawer shut. I crept out of he kitchen and toward the source of the noise. The garage. I quietly opened the door and reluctantly turned on the light. No one was out there. I turned off the light and closed the drawer. Knife still extended in front of me, I entered the art room. Why was the easel pushed against the wall? I looked in the small closet and found nothing and no one. In my room, I found no one under the bed or in the closet. No one was in the bathroom cabinets or hiding behind the shower curtain. No one was in the back or front yard as far as I could see.

I made an indignant noise as I confirmed all the doors and windows were locked. I wondered if I should call the police. And tell them what? Someone came into my house, slammed a door, and disappeared into thin air without unlocking any doors?

I'm hearing things. I thought as I pulled the easel back to the center of the room.

I noticed the sketchbook wasn't on the cheap art table I had bought online. Instead, it was on the stool. A charcoal pencil sat on top. I walked over and saw the that the pencil's tip was worn down. I picked up the soft cover sketchbook and opened it to the first page. It was covered in senseless scribbles. I stared at the page, trying to make form a logical conclusion. I looked ahead of me at the wall.

“Is someone there?”

Silence.

“Are you...trying to communicate?”

Again, I received no response. I thought back to Veronica's jeer about ghosts and felt silly. There was nothing in my house. Death was final. But as I tore out the ruined page, I struggled to believe that.

I threw a couch cushion with a large Coca-Cola stain aside as I searched for my missing cellphone. I put it on the charger and left it on my nightstand before taking a nap.

“You're an asshole!” I shouted to an entity that may not have existed.

Creeeeeak.

I began placing the cushions back on the couch when I heard music.

”I am a big man, yes I am And I've got a big gun”

I sprinted to the kitchen and looked around. Where was it?

“Held against your forehead, I'll make you su–”

I yanked open the silverware drawer and grabbed the phone. Just as I was about to answer, Trent Reznor's voice faded and a picture of Agatha yawning took over the screen.

“Damn it,” I mumbled as I clicked on my calling app.

Missed call from Veronica, 0 minutes ago. I pressed the button to call back and held the phone to my ear.

“Hello?”

I could hear loud meowing in the background.

“Hey, sorry. I misplaced my phone.” I lied.

“That's fine. I called to say I'm on my way.”

“Awesome. See you later.”

Three hours later, I saw that the chicken had thawed. I looked through my cabinets, unable to find the Marsala wine.

What, do ghosts drink fucking cooking wine? I thought. So much for chicken Marsala.

I opened the refrigerator. The wine wasn't in there and neither was the previously untouched case of beers. Letting out a string of swears, I sent a text to Veronica saying I was running to the store and grabbed my car keys.

On the way home, I silently prayed that no other ingredients were missing. My driveway was still empty when I arrived.

Seeing nothing else had gone missing, I began chopping a shallot clove. I had just placed four flowered and halved chicken breasts in a skillet skillet when I heard a car door shut from outside. I quickly reduced the heat and washed my hands.

I pulled the door open only seconds after the first knock. Veronica was cradling Agatha in one arm. She walked past me and out Agatha down.

“Wow, it's not a pigsty! You actually cleaned?”

I rolled my eyes and returned to the kitchen while she went to get her bags out of the car. She had sold most of the furniture before driving up here since I bought new furniture, so there wasn't much for her to bring in.

Agatha slammed her head against my shin and meowed. I leaned to the side and ran a hand through her long, white fur. I had almost forgotten how loud she was. Had long, white fur and pale blue eyes. With that, her jumpiness, and her lack of volume control, we had quickly learned she was completely deaf.

I heard Veronica reenter the house. A few moments later, I heard a door open It didn't sound as heavy as the garage door so it must have been the art studio, as I had shut the door to keep Agatha from knocking anything over.

“Oh my God!” she shouted. “You did this? I love it!”

I grinned and put a pot full of sink water on the stove.

“Why is some of the paint open?” I heard her say a moment later. I scowled and didn't respond.

A few minutes later, I scooped linguine noodles onto two plates. I placed a cooked chicken breast on each plate and poured Marsala sauce and mushrooms over them. I grabbed two forks and knives and brought the plates to the coffee table in the living room. I returned to the kitchen to uncap two bottles of beer and bring them to the coffee table.

“This looks good.” Veronica said, taking her eyes off of a strange scene from a show I didn't recognize on the television to cut up her chicken. “How long until we're ordering pizza and eating cereal for dinner?”

“Tomorrow.” I responded and took a sip of my beer.

Creeeeeak.

Veronica jumped at the noise and frowned before resuming cutting up her chicken.

Soon, dinner was forgotten and Agatha was distracted with a piece of flowerless cooked chicken. Veronica lie on her back on the couch and worked on unhooking the bra I had forgotten to take off earlier while I leaned over her. My watch got caught on her dark, coiled hair.

“Ow!”

“Sorry!”

I only yanked out a few hairs untangling it, and then we were pretending that never happened.

Creeak. Creeeeeeak.

The bra was unhooked and her hands reached the waist of my pajama pants but fell away a moment later. Her eyes were wide as she at something beyond my face. I was about to sit up and look when her arms encircled my torso, trapping me in place.

“I bet the night sky is gorgeous out here.” she said dreamily as she pulled her arms back to her sides. “Let's go look at the stars.”

Creeeeeeeak.

“Seriously?” I failed to hide my annoyance as I sat up.

“Yeah, seriously.” She sat up. “You know I love stars.”

“Can't we fuck first?”

She scowled and grabbed my arm to pull me up. Standing, I said, “Hey, the sky's not leaving.”

She grabbed her phone and car keys off of the table and pocketed them. I was about to speak but the look she shot me made me keep my mouth shut. She jogged to the kitchen and scooped Agatha off the counter. She always warned Agatha before picking her up as to not startle her but she didn't this time. Something was wrong. Had she seen something? What was she looking at before?

“Can you get the door for me?” she asked.

I silently opened the front door and she ran out and toward her red Nissan Sentra. I followed.

“Get in my car.” she demanded. “It's unlocked.”

“Why?” I inquired.

“Get in now!” she growled, peering through the window and in to the backseat.

I opened the passenger side door. She handed Agatha to me and ran over to the driver's side. She slid into the seat and shut the door. She locked the doors before putting the key in the ignition.

“What is wrong with you tonight?” I asked.

“Eyes.” she said, suddenly sounding scared. She put the car in reverse and pulled out of the driveway. “Eyes in the vent.”

“What?” I asked, alarmed.

“You complained about things moving and disappearing” Her voice shook. “Jianne, have you ever been in the attic?”

“No.” It was barely a whisper as it came out of my mouth.

“Someone was watching us from the fucking vent above where I was lying. Get my phone out of my pocket and call 911.”

Police swarmed the house. We returned to the house and watched in mute horror from the driveway as two large men dragged a thin, bearded man out of our house in handcuffs. He looked to be in his early to mid twenties and wore nothing but a stained white T-shirt and a pair of ill-fitting underwear, the latter of which I recognized instantly. He stared at me as he was shoved into the back of the police car.

He was identified as Gabriel Varner, the boy, now man, who had killed his brother and parents in the house. What the realtor hadn't told me is that he ran away and was never caught, until now. He sneaked into the house and hid in the attic somewhere between the house's last inspection in April of 2011 and when I bought the house in June of 2010. Unbeknownst to me, he had lived with me from June to January, for seven months. He said he normally only came out when I was asleep or not home, but there were a few instances where I was both awake and home when he came out. I thought back to the instance with the garage door.

The creaking and scratching stopped. When I went to clean out the attic, I found empty beer and cooking wine bottles, trash, rotting food, jars of urine, my underwear, and everything that went missing. I realized with disgust that all of the underwear were oddly hard and stained. Disgusted, I threw every pair away.

This man had watched me dress and undress, use the bathroom, and shower. He proudly confessed to all of this. He wouldn't comment on whether or not he had planned to kill me. He had disconnected himself from the deaths of his family members and was trialed for insanity.

We stayed in the house. Without a murderer in the attic, what was wrong with it? Agatha loves being able to roam the yard, Veronica and I enjoyed the privacy, and I would not take back all the work on the art studio. I always tell this story to house guests and Veronica chimes in to poke fun at me for not not seeing Gabriel for seven months when she caught him her first night in the house. She and I find the way guests look up at the ceiling hilarious.

But it's hard to find it laughable anymore. After getting back from my brother's wedding the other day, we began hearing creaking.

Submitted September 18, 2016 at 12:28AM by BarrRay http://ift.tt/2cRZl0v nosleep