Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-25825682-20171229192845

It happened in my old house, but it began before I got the call from my friend.

The old house was nice, being situated in the Admiral District of Seattle. My current home, however, feels better because there is a less bad feeling in it. Although, the feeling of an ultimate dread has not gone away since March.

On that night of the 30th, when I was buried under my blankets, my head faced the nightstand were my phone rests to charge. Sleeping this way was not unusual for me since I often check my phone for the time or dismiss its alarm when I get up. Suddenly, the sound of low rasping filled my dream. Slowly lifting my head, a bit, my first thought was to make sure it was not me rasping. I held my breath for a short time. I could still hear the raspy breathing, though it was getting lower and becoming more guttural. Despite its lowered volume, I was positive it was a male, but not an adult one. Then it seemed to be coming closer from the other side of my room, near the corner at my desk, skipping in tempo as it grew slightly louder. Tightly holding my blanket, I shivered and was trying to keep my heart from leaping out of my chest by staying as calm as I could. I did not move until it was all over. After 20 odd minutes, I felt safe enough to move, to where I heard the buzz of my phone incessantly hum.

My hand found the base of my phone and I answered it. It was Jordan, a long-time friend, calling to ask me if I was okay. My gaze fell on my phone with a raised eyebrow, asking what he meant because there was no way he could have known what I just experienced. He told me it was stupid, but he and some of the others were at the beach party last week and went inside the old lighthouse. Over the phone, he sounded unconcerned until he mentioned the mildew smell inside, and the dead body found on the shore years ago, then his voice became nervous. I told him of the raspy breathing, and he went quiet. After a few minutes, he hung up.

All the next day, I called Jordan and only got his voicemail, and his parents explained he was sick and they took him to the hospital. So that evening I went to my mom and told her about the event. She told me not to be worried, as we will be moving soon and won’t have to hear it anymore. I asked if she could hear the rasping too, to which she told me, yes.

That night the hoarse breathing was closer and had become more distinct with rage. Minute by minute that rasping got closer with unpredictable movements. I could hear footsteps slap against the floor as if they emerged from the water. Soon the rasping was so close it felt like it was over my face while I sat against the headboard with my knees up to my chest. I believed it hung over me, waiting to do something as a keening guttural sound resonated in my ears. My eyes shut tight, not wanting to see what or who it was, I was not moving an inch. Yet, it felt like the male/teen thing tried to make me look at it, even though I resisted.

The torment lasted for 20 minutes like before and it was the most hateful feeling I ever received. The next day went calmly and that night no rasping was heard. Yet I was feeling nauseous and was heading for the bathroom outside my room before I began to gag over the sink. Something foreign clung to the inside of my throat. Suddenly, grainy liquid rushed up into my throat and I vomited out dirty water with a few strands of copper hair. By the end of May, things only got worse as I got news from my mother.

It was that month I learned the extent of Jordan’s withdrawal. His parents complained of a rasping that haunted all of them almost every night. The breathing only lessened as Jordan grew sicker, first vomiting up grimy liquid as his eyes grew bloodshot, and then he developed a bruise on his neck. In the end, they found Jordan’s body – desiccated on his bed after they heard that terrible rasping echo from his room one last time. 