Every house has a story. The older the house, the greater the number of stories. There are stories of good times, and irreplaceable moments. But sometimes these stories are dark and terrifying. The stories of my families house were of the latter. I had never lived in the house, it was my grandmothers for as long as I could remember. After she passed, my husband and I received the news that she had left to us in her will. We wasted no time in moving in. it was a big house in a great neighborhood and it beat apartment living. One evening while my husband was at work I was doing laundry. I heard the sounds of my cat running around the house, then I heard the basement door opening. Which was odd. We were given no key, and as hard as we tried we couldn’t pry the door open. I walked to the kitchen to see if maybe I was imagining things. But there stood the open door. With my cat in front of it, ears down back arched. She started hissing and growling. I quickly reached down to grab and calm her down. Even in my arms she kept growling, eyes to the door. No matter how I tried to turn she never moved her eyes from the door for more than a second. At this point I was terrified. I glanced down into her eyes and saw the reflection of a woman standing directly behind me. I awoke in the basement. Unaware of how much time had passed. In the dark I managed to find the door. I heard my husband in the kitchen. Then I heard someone respond to him. In my voice. I banged on the door until my hands were broken and bleeding. But no one came. Occasionally I heard footsteps approach then I would hear myself giggle. And the footsteps began to walk away. I now have my own story to tell of this house. But will I ever get to tell it? -Whisper
Posted on: Sun, 13 Jul 2014 08:31:12 +0000