u/SomBudy_

I would like to preface the following writings by saying this; I am writing this because I need help. There is only a matter of time before it gets in somehow and presumably eats me alive.

I moved into my new house six months ago. It was an old Victorian two-story that was pretty banged up. I didn’t care much about the condition, though. I cared about the price. It was a steal! About an eighth of the price it should have been. I guess that should have served as a red flag to me. But I didn’t care. It was a beautiful home. Especially for a couple of 20 year old newlyweds. The parts that needed fixing would be easy with a little bit of time and some elbow grease. Needless to say, my wife and I were happy. We were happy for six beautiful months. Then she died.

It wasn’t an elegant death by any means.

When we bought the house we planned to remove the wall between the kitchen and the den. We were half-way through the renovation, banging away at the wall with sledges, when my wife hit a pipe. I don’t know how. No one really knew (not even the police) how it burst open how it did. See, when she hit the pipe it practically exploded and completely mauled and dismembered her. She died three hours later in the emergency room with me gazing over her with tearful eyes.

For multiple weeks I couldn’t bring myself to go back there. Back to the house. Back to the kitchen/den wall. I just simply couldn’t. The pain that lived there now was too much. I guess the previous owner (an elderly woman who said she had ‘lived there since she was a girl’) was right when she said “If those walls could talk” while she gave us a tour of the upstairs bedrooms. Thinking back she probably knew. No, she most definitely knew what was going to happen to my wife and I.

I went to live with my brother and his family after the accident. He had two little kids, Conner and Curtis, and they were adorable. Conner was three, I think and Curtis was like one year. My brother was older than me by eight years. My parents had taken a considerable break before realizing, “Oh wait, we want another kid!”

I was sitting in my brother’s kitchen with him having a beer one night when he shot the question, “When are you going to leave Jackson?” he asked. “I don’t know. I just can’t go back there” I replied.
 “Well, you can’t just avoid it and live here for the rest of your life!” He yelled. He had a tendency to be an insensitive jerk when he was drunk. “I’m so sorry that Susie died, Jack, but you are costing us money living here!" He said “We can’t just put food on the table for you. I can barely afford to put food on the table for us!” “I’m sorry” I said gently. I didn’t want to rile my brother up any more than he already was. He had a tendency to escalate things quickly. I sat there. Essentially twiddling my thumbs while he yelled. “There’s something wrong with that house, Brian, I can sense it. I don’t know what it is, but there is something wrong with it.”
I said after a pause “Oh, grow up” he replied. “And you can leave my house, too”

In the morning he apologized at least a million times for what he had said while drunk last night. He told me none of it was true and he was just stressed with work stuff. I knew that was untrue. I knew he meant every last word he said. “It’s okay,” I said. “I want to go home anyway” I definitely did not.

When I arrived back at my house a cold shudder went through my bones. Something about looking at that house made me shiver. 

That night I slept in the downstairs guest bedroom. I couldn’t bring myself to sleep in the same bed that my wife once rested in. I couldn’t fall asleep so I just laid there, deep in contemplation. It was about 3 AM when I first heard the sound. It was gentle at first. Just a light ‘rap rap rap’ in the walls. I heard scuttering and let out an exhale that was louder than it should have been. It was a failed sigh that came out muffled and broken. ‘So now I have rats. Great’ I thought. I wouldn’t find out until much later that those sounds. That gentle ‘rap rap rap’, the light scuttering, were not rats.

I made a silent plan to deal with them in the morning and finally fell asleep as the ‘rats’ seemed to move to the wall behind me. 

I woke up in a cold sweat. I had experienced the worst nightmare of my life.

I was in the hallway that led to my wife and I’s bedroom when she came out of the bathroom. She muttered something un–hearable as she moved toward me. She stopped directly in front of me. “Honey, what’s wrong?” I ask. She ignores that and tries to open her mouth. TRIES. What happens instead is her entire jaw bone, along with the skin and tissue that is attached, sluffs off of her face and falls to the floor. It makes a wet ‘smack’ as it lands. I then scream. My wife’s entire face falls off revealing a monster. It has deep black eyes and at least ten rows of teeth. Its skin is a dull tan with slits, sort of gills, along the side of its cheeks. 

That was when I woke up.

After waking from my nightmare I could no longer sleep. I decided to go after the ‘rats’.

I sat in the guest bedroom and waited to hear something, anything, moving in the walls. Sure enough, after about thirty minutes of waiting I heard the gentle ‘rap rap rap’. If I didn’t know better, I could have sworn it was louder this time. I now knew where the ‘rats’ liked to hang out. I was going to get them.

After failing to find rat traps at the hardware store (and essentially every other store in town) I broke.

When I got home I immediately grabbed the sledge hammer. ‘I don’t give a fuck about this house, anyway’ I thought. I walked to the guest bedroom. “HERE’S JOHNNY” I screamed as I entered the room. I heard a panicked running sound from the wall, “Come here, you RAT bastard” I yelled. I slammed my sledge against the wall and it exploded. Drywall, wallpaper the whole works, was now all over the room. I saw a foot in the corner of my eye. I screamed. “WHAT THE FUCK!?”

I had just seen a fucking foot in my walls. After a (completely necessary) screaming fit, I called the police and told them about the events. The 911 operator didn’t seem to believe me but she told me she’d send an officer my way shortly.

That brings us up to now. I am currently barricaded in my office and that thing is outside.

After calling 911 and staggered to the den to contemplate things. I thought that I could have imagined it. (I didn’t). 

I must have drifted off because when I awoke, that thing was right in front of me. The thing from my dream. With its pale skin and gilled cheeks. I screamed and quickly sprang back. It slowly followed me as I ran down the downstairs hallway. 

After what felt like hours I made it to my office. That is where I am now. I don’t know what to do. The police won’t be here for a while. 

Should I make a break for it? Should I hold up here? Please, I need help.

I would like to preface the following writings by saying this; I am writing this because I need help. There is only a matter of time before it gets in somehow and presumably eats me alive.

I moved into my new house six months ago. It was an old Victorian two-story that was pretty banged up. I didn’t care much about the condition, though. I cared about the price. It was a steal! About an eighth of the price it should have been. I guess that should have served as a red flag to me. But I didn’t care. It was a beautiful home. Especially for a couple of 20 year old newlyweds. The parts that needed fixing would be easy with a little bit of time and some elbow grease. Needless to say, my wife and I were happy. We were happy for six beautiful months. Then she died.

It wasn’t an elegant death by any means.

When we bought the house we planned to remove the wall between the kitchen and the den. We were half-way through the renovation, banging away at the wall with sledges, when my wife hit a pipe. I don’t know how. No one really knew (not even the police) how it burst open how it did. See, when she hit the pipe it practically exploded and completely mauled and dismembered her. She died three hours later in the emergency room with me gazing over her with tearful eyes.

For multiple weeks I couldn’t bring myself to go back there. Back to the house. Back to the kitchen/den wall. I just simply couldn’t. The pain that lived there now was too much. I guess the previous owner (an elderly woman who said she had ‘lived there since she was a girl’) was right when she said “If those walls could talk” while she gave us a tour of the upstairs bedrooms. Thinking back she probably knew. No, she most definitely knew what was going to happen to my wife and I.

I went to live with my brother and his family after the accident. He had two little kids, Conner and Curtis, and they were adorable. Conner was three, I think and Curtis was like one year. My brother was older than me by eight years. My parents had taken a considerable break before realizing, “Oh wait, we want another kid!”

I was sitting in my brother’s kitchen with him having a beer one night when he shot the question, “When are you going to leave Jackson?” he asked. “I don’t know. I just can’t go back there” I replied.
 “Well, you can’t just avoid it and live here for the rest of your life!” He yelled. He had a tendency to be an insensitive jerk when he was drunk. “I’m so sorry that Susie died, Jack, but you are costing us money living here!" He said “We can’t just put food on the table for you. I can barely afford to put food on the table for us!” “I’m sorry” I said gently. I didn’t want to rile my brother up any more than he already was. He had a tendency to escalate things quickly. I sat there. Essentially twiddling my thumbs while he yelled. “There’s something wrong with that house, Brian, I can sense it. I don’t know what it is, but there is something wrong with it.”
I said after a pause “Oh, grow up” he replied. “And you can leave my house, too”

In the morning he apologized at least a million times for what he had said while drunk last night. He told me none of it was true and he was just stressed with work stuff. I knew that was untrue. I knew he meant every last word he said. “It’s okay,” I said. “I want to go home anyway” I definitely did not.

When I arrived back at my house a cold shudder went through my bones. Something about looking at that house made me shiver. 

That night I slept in the downstairs guest bedroom. I couldn’t bring myself to sleep in the same bed that my wife once rested in. I couldn’t fall asleep so I just laid there, deep in contemplation. It was about 3 AM when I first heard the sound. It was gentle at first. Just a light ‘rap rap rap’ in the walls. I heard scuttering and let out an exhale that was louder than it should have been. It was a failed sigh that came out muffled and broken. ‘So now I have rats. Great’ I thought. I wouldn’t find out until much later that those sounds. That gentle ‘rap rap rap’, the light scuttering, were not rats.

I made a silent plan to deal with them in the morning and finally fell asleep as the ‘rats’ seemed to move to the wall behind me. 

I woke up in a cold sweat. I had experienced the worst nightmare of my life.

I was in the hallway that led to my wife and I’s bedroom when she came out of the bathroom. She muttered something un–hearable as she moved toward me. She stopped directly in front of me. “Honey, what’s wrong?” I ask. She ignores that and tries to open her mouth. TRIES. What happens instead is her entire jaw bone, along with the skin and tissue that is attached, sluffs off of her face and falls to the floor. It makes a wet ‘smack’ as it lands. I then scream. My wife’s entire face falls off revealing a monster. It has deep black eyes and at least ten rows of teeth. Its skin is a dull tan with slits, sort of gills, along the side of its cheeks. 

That was when I woke up.

After waking from my nightmare I could no longer sleep. I decided to go after the ‘rats’.

I sat in the guest bedroom and waited to hear something, anything, moving in the walls. Sure enough, after about thirty minutes of waiting I heard the gentle ‘rap rap rap’. If I didn’t know better, I could have sworn it was louder this time. I now knew where the ‘rats’ liked to hang out. I was going to get them.

After failing to find rat traps at the hardware store (and essentially every other store in town) I broke.

When I got home I immediately grabbed the sledge hammer. ‘I don’t give a fuck about this house, anyway’ I thought. I walked to the guest bedroom. “HERE’S JOHNNY” I screamed as I entered the room. I heard a panicked running sound from the wall, “Come here, you RAT bastard” I yelled. I slammed my sledge against the wall and it exploded. Drywall, wallpaper the whole works, was now all over the room. I saw a foot in the corner of my eye. I screamed. “WHAT THE FUCK!?”

I had just seen a fucking foot in my walls. After a (completely necessary) screaming fit, I called the police and told them about the events. The 911 operator didn’t seem to believe me but she told me she’d send an officer my way shortly.

That brings us up to now. I am currently barricaded in my office and that thing is outside.

After calling 911 and staggered to the den to contemplate things. I thought that I could have imagined it. (I didn’t). 

I must have drifted off because when I awoke, that thing was right in front of me. The thing from my dream. With its pale skin and gilled cheeks. I screamed and quickly sprang back. It slowly followed me as I ran down the downstairs hallway. 

After what felt like hours I made it to my office. That is where I am now. I don’t know what to do. The police won’t be here for a while. 

Should I make a break for it? Should I hold up here? Please, I need help.

I would like to preface the following writings by saying this; I am writing this because I need help. There is only a matter of time before it gets in somehow and presumably eats me alive.

I moved into my new house six months ago. It was an old Victorian two-story that was pretty banged up. I didn’t care much about the condition, though. I cared about the price. It was a steal! About an eighth of the price it should have been. I guess that should have served as a red flag to me. But I didn’t care. It was a beautiful home. Especially for a couple of 20 year old newlyweds. The parts that needed fixing would be easy with a little bit of time and some elbow grease. Needless to say, my wife and I were happy. We were happy for six beautiful months. Then she died.

It wasn’t an elegant death by any means.

When we bought the house we planned to remove the wall between the kitchen and the den. We were half-way through the renovation, banging away at the wall with sledges, when my wife hit a pipe. I don’t know how. No one really knew (not even the police) how it burst open how it did. See, when she hit the pipe it practically exploded and completely mauled and dismembered her. She died three hours later in the emergency room with me gazing over her with tearful eyes.

For multiple weeks I couldn’t bring myself to go back there. Back to the house. Back to the kitchen/den wall. I just simply couldn’t. The pain that lived there now was too much. I guess the previous owner (an elderly woman who said she had ‘lived there since she was a girl’) was right when she said “If those walls could talk” while she gave us a tour of the upstairs bedrooms. Thinking back she probably knew. No, she most definitely knew what was going to happen to my wife and I.

I went to live with my brother and his family after the accident. He had two little kids, Conner and Curtis, and they were adorable. Conner was three, I think and Curtis was like one year. My brother was older than me by eight years. My parents had taken a considerable break before realizing, “Oh wait, we want another kid!”

I was sitting in my brother’s kitchen with him having a beer one night when he shot the question, “When are you going to leave Jackson?” he asked. “I don’t know. I just can’t go back there” I replied.
 “Well, you can’t just avoid it and live here for the rest of your life!” He yelled. He had a tendency to be an insensitive jerk when he was drunk. “I’m so sorry that Susie died, Jack, but you are costing us money living here!" He said “We can’t just put food on the table for you. I can barely afford to put food on the table for us!” “I’m sorry” I said gently. I didn’t want to rile my brother up any more than he already was. He had a tendency to escalate things quickly. I sat there. Essentially twiddling my thumbs while he yelled. “There’s something wrong with that house, Brian, I can sense it. I don’t know what it is, but there is something wrong with it.”
I said after a pause “Oh, grow up” he replied. “And you can leave my house, too”

In the morning he apologized at least a million times for what he had said while drunk last night. He told me none of it was true and he was just stressed with work stuff. I knew that was untrue. I knew he meant every last word he said. “It’s okay,” I said. “I want to go home anyway” I definitely did not.

When I arrived back at my house a cold shudder went through my bones. Something about looking at that house made me shiver. 

That night I slept in the downstairs guest bedroom. I couldn’t bring myself to sleep in the same bed that my wife once rested in. I couldn’t fall asleep so I just laid there, deep in contemplation. It was about 3 AM when I first heard the sound. It was gentle at first. Just a light ‘rap rap rap’ in the walls. I heard scuttering and let out an exhale that was louder than it should have been. It was a failed sigh that came out muffled and broken. ‘So now I have rats. Great’ I thought. I wouldn’t find out until much later that those sounds. That gentle ‘rap rap rap’, the light scuttering, were not rats.

I made a silent plan to deal with them in the morning and finally fell asleep as the ‘rats’ seemed to move to the wall behind me. 

I woke up in a cold sweat. I had experienced the worst nightmare of my life.

I was in the hallway that led to my wife and I’s bedroom when she came out of the bathroom. She muttered something un–hearable as she moved toward me. She stopped directly in front of me. “Honey, what’s wrong?” I ask. She ignores that and tries to open her mouth. TRIES. What happens instead is her entire jaw bone, along with the skin and tissue that is attached, sluffs off of her face and falls to the floor. It makes a wet ‘smack’ as it lands. I then scream. My wife’s entire face falls off revealing a monster. It has deep black eyes and at least ten rows of teeth. Its skin is a dull tan with slits, sort of gills, along the side of its cheeks. 

That was when I woke up.

After waking from my nightmare I could no longer sleep. I decided to go after the ‘rats’.

I sat in the guest bedroom and waited to hear something, anything, moving in the walls. Sure enough, after about thirty minutes of waiting I heard the gentle ‘rap rap rap’. If I didn’t know better, I could have sworn it was louder this time. I now knew where the ‘rats’ liked to hang out. I was going to get them.

After failing to find rat traps at the hardware store (and essentially every other store in town) I broke.

When I got home I immediately grabbed the sledge hammer. ‘I don’t give a fuck about this house, anyway’ I thought. I walked to the guest bedroom. “HERE’S JOHNNY” I screamed as I entered the room. I heard a panicked running sound from the wall, “Come here, you RAT bastard” I yelled. I slammed my sledge against the wall and it exploded. Drywall, wallpaper the whole works, was now all over the room. I saw a foot in the corner of my eye. I screamed. “WHAT THE FUCK!?”

I had just seen a fucking foot in my walls. After a (completely necessary) screaming fit, I called the police and told them about the events. The 911 operator didn’t seem to believe me but she told me she’d send an officer my way shortly.

That brings us up to now. I am currently barricaded in my office and that thing is outside.

After calling 911 and staggered to the den to contemplate things. I thought that I could have imagined it. (I didn’t). 

I must have drifted off because when I awoke, that thing was right in front of me. The thing from my dream. With its pale skin and gilled cheeks. I screamed and quickly sprang back. It slowly followed me as I ran down the downstairs hallway. 

After what felt like hours I made it to my office. That is where I am now. I don’t know what to do. The police won’t be here for a while. 

Should I make a break for it? Should I hold up here? Please, I need help.