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The Former Crackhouse

July 5, 2011

So, here I am trying to put off doing my midterm projects, browsing r/nosleep when I realize that I, too, have a story to tell. This is true and from my own experience. (As I’m writing this, I realize it’s going to be long… sorry!)

I lived in the same quaint house until I was 15. We moved a few towns over to this old house we were renting while building another down the street. We were to stay in the house for about a year. It was really old, probably made in the early 1900’s, and had been abandoned for the past 30 years until realtors took interest in it and fixed it up. A neighbor told us it was a makeshift crackhouse during its abandonment, needles everywhere, teenage kids drinking beer there on the weekends. We thought, whatever! … until this old couple in their 70’s down the road came to introduce themselves one day, and told us about how a gangster lived in the house in the 30’s, supposedly killed people, but they never found the bodies. We laughed and shrugged it off.

So let my explain the house. It’s kind of complicated since it’s so old. It has 6 stories/staircases, but not all of them are directly on top of each other. My room and my foster sister’s room (my best friend at the time) were on the bottom floor. Then it was the kitchen, living room, my brother’s room was directly above mine, my parent’s room, and then a whole-floor living room at the top. That had a staircase that led to a cool widow’s peak on the roof. The house was really cool, architecturally-wise. Oh, I also forgot to mention that there was a basement attached to the garage with just a normal door inbetween, and there was a little door to it on the back of the house which i could see from my balcony. The basement was literally 4 feet tall – useless – so my dad padlocked the little door from the inside then boarded up the garage door to it really well. So the creepy, odd basement was sealed.

So the FIRST night I’m staying in this house. My parent’s go out to dinner so I invite my friend over. It’s her, my foster sister, and I on the very top floor. We decide to sneakily drink because we are 15 and awesome, right? So we are mixing beverages and suddenly we hear the downstairs door open and we hear my mom talking to my dad. So we FREAK OUT and hide the alcohol fast! We run downstairs to greet them, only no one is there! So I call my mom – she’s still out to dinner. We check every crevice of the house – all the doors were locked, no one was inside. We shrugged it off as whatever. And drank.

Fast forward maybe a few months. Everyone in the house is asleep except for my foster sister Morgan and I. Suddenly on the floor above me I hear the most intense, loud noise I’ve ever heard. I can only describe it as the sound of bears wrestling. So much commotion. Like dressers being dragged across wood floors then pushed over, or something. Bears wrestling. Morgan runs into my room and screams ARE YOU HEARING THIS? It’s still happening. I run out of my room and yell for my mom to wake up, but as soon as I yell the noise stops. My mom heard nothing but we checked the whole house. Nothing out of the ordinary. So we shrugged it off again, not connecting the two weird events, but always bringing up how weird it was.

Some time after that incident was mostly forgotten, I was laying in bed reading. I started hearing a noise on the ceiling (not the floor above me) that sounded like scratching. The noise was above me, trailed away further, then came back to me. It was odd, but really distracting. I was mostly just freaked out so I left my room and slept with Morgan that night. The noise continued though at least once a week. It became less scary and more obnoxious. Finally, one night I looked up at my ceiling and screamed “JUST FUCKING STOP IT” … and it stopped. The noise didn’t come back. I talked to Morgan about it – she’d been hearing scratching in her room, too.

So here I am thinking that her and I are absolutely crazy since we’re the only one’s encountering phenomena. WRONG! My brother is a huge troublemaker, so my mom always blames him for things first. One morning I hear her yelling at him for making so much noise on the widow’s peak on the roof the night before. He’s saying, no, no no, I wasn’t out there. Of course we don’t believe him. He apparently “keeps making noise up there” and denying it for so many nights and my mom is furious. Finally, he goes away to stay with his girlfriend for a night and my mom is awoken by this crazy loud noise again. She remembers he’s not home so she’s terrified, wakes up my father who examines what’s going on… no one is up there and the noise stops. So my family is a little shaken and curious at this point.

So I’m 16 at this point, being a badass, going out onto my balcony one evening after my parents go to bed so I can smoke a big fat bowl. I’m nervous and checking my surroundings a lot when I look down and notice the little door to the stupid basement is open. I think nothing of it – my dad probably needed to use it for something. A few days later my mother comes up to me, angry, and screams “did you open that basement door!? your brother swears he didn’t and i can tell he’s not lying! ugh!” I explain to her I didn’t, and realize that means my father didn’t open it either. My whole family is REALLY freaked out at the moment we realize that the garage door to the basement is still boarded up just the way my dad did it. That means there was truly no access to remove the padlock that was on the INSIDE of the little door. No fucking way. We were awestruck.

That was the last big thing that happened in the house. There were always little noises, and the scratching returned. I live two streets down from it now so whenever I walk by, all I can think about is the wrestling bears noise and that first terrifying noise I heard. We moved out after a year and a half to a relatively normal house.

Hope you enjoyed that. Sorry it was so long.

– Posted by recordskip; Nosleep

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