It was a day like any other San Francisco day; overcast, low to mid 60s, and gloomy. I sat in the living room while my mom talked to someone on the house phone. She hung up, went to her room, and came back with her purse.
“Want to go check out the house your cousin just bought?” she asked.
I was about 11 years old, of course with nothing better to do. I had already played the PS1 demo disk enough times to know when the tiger from Tomb Raider would come jumping out to eat Lara, so I agreed. (It’s when you climb the ledge and jump back down, btw.)
I put on my white Gap anorak, blue flared jeans, and Nikes. We hopped into the car and headed to the house. As any prepubescent tween’s imagination would go, I envisioned a brightly lit house, fragrant with fresh paint, new fixtures, brand spanking new, and simply awesome. As we drove up, the house looked completely dilapidated. It was old, dark, and desperate for a fresh coat of paint. All so opposite from the imagination.
My cousin met us at the front door, excited to show my mom what a great deal she got. I will never forget the whiff that we received as we stepped in. The stench of old and crusty was apparent, not like the old and crusty like the elderly, but the old and crusty like, holy shit it’s so old and crusty, something might have died in here.
The basement door was to our left and there was a bunch of junk in there. We passed it and went up the stairs. The gloom of the weather that day only made the place look worse. The stench took a bit of getting used to, and despite the crusty circumstances, the place was actually quite roomy and nice for San Francisco living standards. It just needed some renovation work to make it livable.
My cousin described to my mom what she wanted everything to be. The room closest to the stairs would be her daughter’s, then the living room, a dining room which would have their Grand Piano (her daughter was a pianist), and the room in the back would be the master. We toured around the house as I quietly pretended to be impressed; I could not wait to get out of there and go back home. In the kitchen, I noticed a mysterious dark brown stain. Perhaps from refrigerator poop, dried blood, or ghost plasma, I will never know.
We went down to the basement. I walked through carefully, trying to process what a piece of shit the place actually was. To my right, were remnants of a dried mouse carcass sitting on a trimmed ledge, like it had been trapped between a tall bookshelf and the wall. To the left of the carcass was a cement sink broken in half. Strewn all over the basement floor was debris and trash.
To the left corner was the door that led outside to the in-law unit. This could have been where the stench was coming from. Not surprisingly, there was trash, junk, and debris in there too. I couldn’t stay in there for too long because the shorter ceiling and smaller enclosed space made it smell really bad. I jumped back outside to the gloomy overcast day. We walked through the open corridor along the wall of in-law unit and finally came to the backyard. Yes trash there too, but looked as if neighbors may have thrown their trash into the backyard because it looked new.
The three of us started back to the house, but my mom and cousin stopped at the basement door jamb. I didn’t want to go inside because of the stench so I stayed outside in the corridor, my back facing my mom and cousin and looked up at the white sky.
My mom asked me for the flashlight in my hand. I paused for a few seconds, taking in the fresh air before I had to face the stench again. As I swung around, I suddenly felt a strange pair of hands hold me by the hips, then on the small of my back, and shoved me forward. It shoved me hard enough for me to stomp.
My stomach dropped. WHAT THE FUCK just touched me? There was nothing there; I was just looking at it. I became paralyzed with an aberrant fear, unable to turn around, quietly rationalizing to myself what had happened. I had none. I gave the flashlight to my mom and stayed silent until it was finally time to leave.
We said our goodbyes and got into the car. I was secretly disturbed by the smile of my cousin’s face as she waved us off. I can’t ever tell her. So I asked my mom as we backed away from the driveway.
Might as well be straight up.
“Did someone die in that house?” “Why? Stop being scared. Just because it’s an old house.” “Not scared, something pushed me.”
My mom’s face turned white. An old man who lived there died falling from the stairs outside that led from the kitchen to the backyard.
Submitted December 05, 2014 at 06:40AM by motorchic http://ift.tt/1zrh7e6 nosleep
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