I woke up the other morning to a strange scratching sound at my bedroom door. Groggy from sleep, I thought it was my childhood dog, Sunny. Then I remembered I was in my own house, and I had no pets. I got up and opened the door to find a raccoon skittering into my room. Yelling in surprise, I ran to get a broom to chase it out of my house when I noticed that my back door was wide open. I figured that was how the racoon got in. It was odd, though, as I vividly remembered locking the door before I went to bed. I wasn’t very concerned, seeing as I live in a safe neighborhood with no history of break-ins or violence, and I figured I had just neglected to lock the door. Remembering the raccoon, I continued on to getting the broom.
Flash forward to the next day. The raccoon is gone and my back door is locked, I made sure of it. Thinking it safe to sleep, I got in bed… and woke up to hear my back door banging against the side of the house. I rushed out of bed to close and lock the door again, and this time I was a little more concerned. I looked through my house to make sure there was nothing taken, but all my valuables were still intact. In fact, the only things that looked out of place were the things the raccoon had knocked over the previous morning. I puzzled over it for a while before deciding I hadn’t really locked the door, and had just thought I’d checked.
Then the next morning it happened again. I woke up and walked out of my room and there was my back door, wide open. This time though, there were drops of a dark, red-black substance splattered on the door. Now I was worried. I cleaned off the door and checked my house again; once, twice, three times. Nothing was out of place. This time I decided to add another lock to the door. I quickly installed a slide lock and made sure both the new lock and the door lock were secured tightly.
When I woke up the next morning the slide lock was bent out of shape on the floor, having been ripped off the door. The door itself was wide open, and inside my house was a mangled, bloody corpse of what I could only assume used to be a rabbit. I felt sick as I tentatively walked through my house. There was still nothing out of place. I decided to call a locksmith after cleaning up the body, naively hoping there was just something wrong with my door lock. When the locksmith arrived and checked my back door, he said he had never seen a lock in better shape.
I’m awake now, unable to fall asleep. I locked my door, and checked it five times to make sure it was locked. I tried to reassure myself, saying nothing was going to happen, the previous incidents have just been wild animals, I just forgot to lock my door the other times. Then I heard it.
Creeeeeak.
The knob turned on the back door.
Creeeeeak.
The back door opened wide.
Creeeeeak.
Something walked into my house. I was frozen in my bed, too petrified to even breathe. There was no sound for a minute. And then it laughed. An awful, dry, deep sound. The laugh got louder, no, closer to my bedroom door. Scratch, scratch, scratch… It sounded like nails on a chalkboard as its fingers ran down my door. Then I heard a wet thud, and the laughing went away. After an hour of laying in my bed, my heart beating in my throat, I shakily got up and opened my bedroom door. There I was on the floor, my body mangled and broken. And there it was, standing right in front of me. Humanlike teeth that were far too big and far too sharp contorted into a gruesome smile, a long pointy face with pitch black eyes, an impossibly skinny body and fingers like spiny claws. It pointed at me, fingers an inch away from my chest, and then it shuffled off with an animalistic gait, out through my open back door.
I haven’t been sleeping. I haven’t been eating. I haven’t left my room. All I can do is stare at my own corpse in horror. It hasn’t come back yet. The sun is going down.
Creeeeeak.
Creeeeeak.
Creeeeeak.
