CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "If you're a property inspector and you see this house, don't go in" Creepypasta

Episode Date: September 5, 2022

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Up until last month, I'd spent the last three years working as a property inspector for a national real estate company. They had over 500 houses across the three-state region I covered, and between me and my boss, Willie, we were supposed to check them all at least once every two months. That meant making sure there were no leaks, no notable wear and tear, no problems with water or electrics where they were turned on, and of course, making sure no one was getting inside and either squatting or vandalising the owner's property. It wasn't a bad job,

and while the work had been described to me as part guard, part plumber and electrician, honestly, it required very little beyond showing up, taking notes and pictures if I saw something that looked weird, and then reporting it to Willie. Simple stuff we might wind up doing our same, but the company had specialists for anything more complex or dangerous. And, as for trespassers, I'd never found a single one my entire time working there.

But then, eight months ago, I went into a house that was new on our rotation. This was an unusual, of course. While some properties seem stuck in some permanent limbo of not being rented or sold, there was a fair amount of turnover with most of them, and every new two-month rotation inevitably brought some different houses with it. From the outside, this one wasn't particularly noteworthy, a single-story ranch house with faded white vinyl siding that went back further than you'd have thought from the street.

To quote a common willyism, it had a real ass on it. The yard was in decent shape, though I could already see recommending whoever was cutting it coming by more often before the house started being actively shown. And while it could definitely use a good pressure washing, a circle of the exterior didn't lead me to check off any problem spots or needs for repair. Then I went inside. Opening the door and crossing the threshold into an empty house can feel a variety of ways.

Most aren't really noteworthy at all beyond a bit of stale air. Some places are stifling hot or unexpectedly cold, musty or just thick with dust and the stench of roach or mouse droppings drying in the shadows. But this place, when I stepped through the front door, I immediately noticed that the air felt thicker inside, almost as though I had jumped off the ledge of a pool into water, I was now trying to walk among the bottom. I felt a moment of panic at the sensation, reaching for the light switch, before remembering that the electrics were still off here.

The house had been bought at a foreclosure sale, and it might be weeks or months before the company got around to turning utilities back on and putting the house with one of its agents. Mottering a curse, I dug out my flashlight and turned it on. It was early afternoon outside, but you couldn't tell it in here. Everything was murky and grey, the beam from the light seeming dim and feeble as it pushed out at the shadows crouched in every corner.

grumbling, I pushed my nerves down. I'd gotten over the unease of going into empty houses in the first couple of weeks of doing this job, and I wasn't going to freak myself out now. I wouldn't find anything different in this house than I had in a thousand others. And if I did, all I had to do was leave and call Willie. Not a big deal. Walking down the front hall, I turned to the right. brownish-looking carpet and bare yellow walls.

No sign of any damage or anything having been left behind. This place had 12 rooms according to the sheet, and I tended to work front to back. So, before going through the door in the back wall of that room, I crossed over the main hall to the left-hand room. This was a smaller room, also brown carpet, green walls, nothing of note. Moving to the door on the far side, there should be one more room, a larger living room area that, I paused in the doorway as my flashlight landed on something.

It was an old rocking horse with a wooden body and rockers of peeling black paint and a moulded plastic head that was faded with age, but still identifiable as a snarling face of a black stallion. The leather saddle on the back of the horse is what stood out the most. Unlike the rest, it seemed to be in very good shape. With the luster of the dark brown skin seeming to almost glow under my light. The embossed golden lettering above the yellow stirrup was legible even at a distance. Nick's best deed.

I felt my stomach tightened slightly. Something wasn't right here. It wasn't uncommon to find some trash or other things that the house cleaners had missed on a first inspection. But how would they miss something like this? stepping back through the other room and into the hall I reached for my notepad and hesitated Normally I would write down things as I found them But I didn't want to hear

I didn't like the sound of focusing my attention on anything Other than my surroundings Of making I hesitated and then forced myself to finish my thought Of making myself vulnerable Clenching my jaw I stepped further down the hallway. I knew I was being stupid, but it didn't matter.

Nerves had me now. I needed to finish doing a quick sweep of the house and get out. The fourth room, empty. The fifth and sixth were the same. Then, in the seventh room, there was a television sitting in the middle of the floor, a pretty old one with a small curved screen of thick glass surrounded by a heavy wooden cabinet. How the hell had they left this sitting here? I felt a dull sense of fascination looking at it.

It really was old and kind of interesting. Probably an antique that might be worth something to somebody, even if it didn't work out. Crouching down, I gave the large metal channel doll her twist, each number between one and nine making a satisfying click as it ratcheted by. Shining my light back across the front. I stopped when I reached the screen. The glass.

The glass had lines, ridges in it, six lines trailing down as though someone had run their fingers through clay. Though these marks looked as though they'd been made by something melting their way into the glass as they went. I shivered and stood back up. My momentarily forgotten fear back stronger now. It was nothing. Plenty of houses had weird stuff there. behind, right? Still, I was ready to be done and get out. Glancing around the room again,

I moved on. Room 8, clear. Room 9, the last one on the right side of the house, so far as I could tell, had some peeling wallpaper, but no signs of water damage or mould behind it. I crossed back over the main hall into room 10, and at first I saw nothing out of the ordinary. Then I turned to look in the corner and saw the naked man crouched there grinning at me In that first moment of shock and panic I took him in fully

His head was crudely shaved With thin patches of hair still whispering away from a scalp Covered in cuts and scabs His face was thin and lean Except around his eyes Which were red and puffy Even now as he stretched cracked lips wide to show me twin rows of grey teeth.

He was crying. His body shuddering with a faint sound somewhere between laughter and a sob. Oh no, I know. The next moment I was running for the front door and I didn't stop until I was back outside and in my locked car. I called 911 then,

waiting in my car for the cop to come and get out the trespasser. It took half an hour before someone showed up and when they did, they looked skeptical. I'd made the mistake of telling 911 that not only was there some guy in the house, but he was naked and crying.

At the time, I thought it'd make them come quicker, but instead it had made them think it was some kind of practical joke. The officer was polite, though, asking me a few questions before telling me to wait outside. I could tell by his expression, he didn't think he'd find anything,

and as soon as he stepped back out, I could see that his suspicions had been confirmed. Still, when he came back to the car, I forced myself to ask if he saw the guy. He offered a slight frown. No, no sign of anyone in there now. He gestured toward me in the car. You've been here the entire time you said,

since you left the house? When I nodded, his frown deepened slightly. Well, this is the only door in an air. out that I saw, so unless he climbed out a window, I don't know where he would have went. He let the unspoken implication hang in the air for the moment, before giving a shrug. Still, let us know if you have any further problems and they'll send someone back out. I wanted to argue, to try to convince him, but I realized there was no point. What could I say, and what did it matter?

I was done for now and when I talked to Willie he'd know if there was anything else we should do he'd been working that job for over 30 years and there was very little he hadn't seen after all where did you hear about it kid

the internet I stared at Willie and confusion we're at Breckins a diner we met at once a week to eat breakfast and compare notes and I'd just finished telling him about the house and what I'd found there. I'd known his expression had changed as I talked, but at the time I'd chalked it up to him

being concerned about what I'd seen. Now that I was done though, he seemed not only tense, but almost angry. What are you talking about? He took a sip of coffee as he studded me over the cup. Look, I'm not calling you a liar, but if this is some prank you're trying to pull, just tell me now. I won't be mad. Where did you hear about the hollow house? I love. I love at him blankly. Willie, I don't know what you're talking about. I swear. What's the hollow house?

Sitting down the coffee, he sighed. I believe you. You're a good kid, and I've never known you to be a liar. And hell, I don't know if anyone talks about it on the internet in the first place. I just figured that it might be on there somewhere, like every other damn thing. He gave a small shrug. I learned about it at first. the same as you.

20, maybe 25 years ago. I went into that house, on the outside, looked just like the rest, and then I saw the TV. Back then, it wasn't so old-looking as it would seem now, with everybody having giant things

they hang on their wall. But it was still old and odd that it had been overlooked. I felt my eyes widen. You mean you saw this say... He cut me this luck that said, hold off asking questions

until he was to explaining something to me. I fell silent. Rubbing his eyebrows, he went on. Then I saw the rocking horse, just like you described, down to the Nick's best deed and everything. By this point, I was starting to get skittish, but I was quick to get spooked back then,

and I told myself that's all this was. His hand trembled slightly as it trailed down to clasp the other on the table. But then I saw the man We didn't have cell phones back then And they encouraged us to threaten people And bully them out when we could Not hurt them, but make it seem like we might He shook his head as he looked down at his coffee

The guy just kept on staring at me Laughing and crying at the same time Just eyes locked on mine while I got in his face and yelled Told him I get rough if I had to Well he gave a better chance chuckle, all while try not to pee myself. He brought his gaze up to mine. That's when the guy's eyes shifted away from me.

He was looking at something behind me now. In spite of myself, I couldn't help but break in and ask, What was it? What was behind you? Willis' face visibly paled? No, I don't want to talk about that. Looking away, he licked his lips. Anyway, I got out, went into all the buddard.

a mind that worked for the company what I'd seen. He'd heard of it before too, and he knew what people called it. The hollow house, I frowned. Okay, if this is all true and you knew this place was messed up or haunted or whatever, why didn't you warn me before I went in there? He gave me a little smile and shook his head. No, you don't understand. It's not the same house. It's never the same house, at least on the outside. Never in the same spot, same past owner's nothing. Believe me, I've looked into it some, and over the years I've talked to half a dozen people that have run across it too.

Every one of them describes seeing the same stuff on the inside, but there are in different houses all around the country over the past 30 or 40 years when it happened. Sitting back, I let out to slow breath. How is that even possible? What is it? Willie spread his hand out and gave a deeper shrug. I have no idea, not keen on finding out either. Leaning in, he lowered his voice slightly.

That's why the couple of times I've run across it since. As soon as I know where I'm at, I beat feet back out. And from then on, that place gets my stamp of approval without me ever going closer than riding by to make sure it hasn't burned down. He held my gaze a moment. And there's exactly what you need to do too. I nodded, but I could already feel my stomach tightening. I... I don't know, man. I can't lose this job.

Even if it's all real, maybe it's just creepy, right? Like, you've never gotten hurt from it, and... I trailed off as Willie unbuttoned his sleeves and rolled it up. The first time I found the hollow house, I left with this. Just above his left elbow was a... scar. The flesh there dark and hard, like a shadow had been tattooed across his skin, in the shape of a grasping hand. He reached over now and gripped my arm. It's not just a spooky story, kid, and you just got lucky this time. The five or six people that have told me about

going into the hollow house. I've heard another dozen stories over the years about people that disappeared doing this job. How many of those do you think went into one of these places and didn't get out quick enough. I was nodding now, terrified. Maybe it was how scared I looked that caused him to make the offer. Look, I'll just adjust our schedules, okay? Put that house and my rotation. I snapped back a little out of my shock. Willie, you don't have to... He was already raising his hand to stop me. No, no, it's fine. I'm used to it, and I know the signs well enough now to get out fast. Besides, I don't plan on stepping foot in that place.

And as long as I've been here, no one's going to hassle me if they find a problem I don't report. He pointed at me. Not that you can let your guard down. If you stick with this job, you'll run across it again at some point. Sighing, I nodded. Yeah, sure, but...

Are you sure? When he looked at me this time, he only met my eyes for a second before looking away. Yeah, kid, I'll be fine. For the next few months, everything went back to normal. I knew from the schedule that Willie would have visited the hollow house twice, but he never mentioned it, and neither did I.

I was grateful to not have to go there myself or risk-faking my inspections, but I felt guilty for passing the risk onto him. Still, every time I went into a new house, there was now a moment of fear and tension while I tested the air and looked for signs of something being off. Nothing ever was, but that nervous anticipation never left me entirely and that was enough to take the edge of the guilt at what Willie was doing for me,

especially since I felt sure he wasn't actually going inside. The next month, a new corporate policy came down from the National Office to ensure that every property was being revealed, viewed thoroughly, we were to take at least three photos of the interior of every house we inspected, including at least one that had a laminated property form in the shot. These forms were in every house, listing the address, property ID number, and various other details like square footage and local agent conduct information. Every form was unique, and were usually taped to the counter in the kitchen,

meaning that you couldn't just use a form from another house. My stomach dropped as soon as I got the email. And when I checked the schedule, I saw that Willie was supposed to be checking the hollow house again two weeks later. Enough time for me to talk to him when we did our weekly meetup, for us to come up with an answer, or if not, for me to at least offer to take the house back. No, kid, it's fine. I'll figure something out.

I frowned. Look, I don't want to go in there either. Maybe I can fake the pictures, right? Make a new copy of the form and take a picture of it taped to a different counter in a different house, not like they'd ever know. He looked thoughtful for a second as he considered it, and then shook his head. Won't work. They don't store the info on these forms in any computers we have access to,

so we'd have no way of knowing some of the stuff like the local realtor that's listed without seeing the form. Besides, I know the way the suits think. They started those forms five years ago, made a big deal of putting them in the same place in the house and making sure every place had one. I wondered why at the time, when they could just give the info to us and the real estate agents. Glaring, he stabbed at a piece of egg.

What do you want to bet they were already planning this? Took pictures of the forms on the counters, so if they ever decided to do what they're doing now, they'd have something to catch fakes. "'Isn't that kind of paranoid?' "'Well, he shrugged. "'Only if I'm wrong. "'And I don't put much past a man

"'looking to squeeze a dollar. "'Hell, I don't think it's a bad idea, if I'm honest.' "'He sighed. "'Just damn inconvenient.' "'Well, I mean, I can go in and do it then. "'It can't be bad in there all the time, right? "'How else were they ever put the forms in? "'Sell these houses?'

"'His eyes flicked up to mine. I don't know that they ever do sell them. I've kept an eye on the ones I've found over the years, and best I can tell, none of them have ever actually sold. They just drop off the lists after a while. No idea why. And I'm not going to look if I don't have to.

He nodded as he chewed. Still, you're right. It can't be like that all the time. Maybe I'll hit it lucky, and I'll take a bunch of shots of their damned form when I'm in there, enough to dole out until I've retired. stomach in knots, I pushed out the question I didn't want to ask. Are you sure?

Willie hesitated, and in that brief pause, he looked frail and old. When he spoke, his voice was steady but low, barely above a whisper. Yeah, kid, I'm sure. I wanted to call Willie after his next check of the hollow house, but I held off. I was going to be meeting him for breakfast the next day, or make it into a bigger deal than it was already. Maybe the house had gone back to normal, and either way, he'd have let me know if something had come up,

unless he never got back out. I tried to push the thought away, but I couldn't. Finally, I gave in, calling him that night. The phone rang several times, and each second I could feel it getting harder to breathe. What if something really had... Hello? Willie, thank God, man.

I... Sorry, I just knew you had the house today and wanted to make sure you're okay. Huh? Oh, yeah, it went fine. I sat down, as relief flooded through me. Good, good, so you got the pictures he needed? It all went fine. I'm just real tired.

Going to bake off the meeting tomorrow, if that's all right. I frowned. Other than one. time when he was down with the flu for two weeks, Willie, and never missed one of our breakfasts. You sure, man? He need me to bring him anything. No, I'll be fine, thanks. We need to go now.

I went to say more, but I heard the click as he hung up. I worried about him over the weekend, but it wasn't until I got a phone call the next Tuesday that I knew something was really wrong. It was from the regional office. asked if I'd heard from Willie in the last few days, that he hadn't submitted a report since the middle of the week before, and they couldn't get him on the phone. Heart in my throat, I told them no.

But as soon as I got back into town that afternoon, I'd go by and check on him. Willie lived in a two-story house on the east side of town. The neighbourhood had gone down in recent years, but Willie always kept his place in great shape. He told me once that he'd been terrible about keeping up the place when his wife was alive. Too much like his job, he said. Now that she was gone, and with no kids or grandkids, he had lots of empty time to fill.

So, he decided on doing a better job taking care of the house she had loved so much. I knocked on the door twice before ringing the bell, and I was starting to wonder if he was home, despite his car being in the driveway. hitting the doorbell a second time I called out, "'Willie, you in there? You sick or something?' Still, no answer. Walking back off the porch, I debated what to do. I didn't want to bother him, but I didn't want him laying in there sick or dying either.

Maybe I should call the—' My eyes landed on a rock at the edge of the flower bed, or something that looked like a rock at least. Crouching down, I picked it up and gave a brief, humorless laugh. It was a hider key. Sliding back the bottom, I saw the house key nested inside the moulded plastic base. Willie might get mad, but so be it. I wanted to make sure he was okay.

Fishing the key out, and went back up to the door and put it in. The key turned easily, and calling out to Willie that I was coming up. in, I started to open the door. I had only opened it afoot when I met resistance from the other side. Looking up, I saw Willie's haggard face peering at me from the gap. His eyes were red and wild as he stared out, and his skin had his sickly sweat sheen glow to it. He really was sick. Hey, sorry to bother him and you look terrible, are you get away? His voice was a hoarse croak. and it didn't take long for me to see why. Black marks, the shape of long fingers,

banded his neck like a collar. I felt anger and fear welling up in my chest. Really, what the hell, man? Did someone hurt you? He squeezed his eyes shut, tears forming at their corners. No, just get away from here, kid. Don't come back. With that, he stepped back and shoved the door. shut. I could have stopped him, but I'd been transfixed by what I saw behind him in that brief

glimpse into his house. By the time I realized what was happening, he'd already locked the door and slid a deadbolt, and my yelling and knocking didn't get any further response. I went back home and then called the cops, asked them to do a welfare check. When I called back a couple of hours later, they said they'd gone by and spoken to Willie, and he was fine other than being bundled up, said he was fighting off a bug and stayed cold all the time, but that he didn't need them, or his nosy co-worker bugging him all hours of the day and night. The cop then mentioned to me that 911 was for actual emergencies and that I should probably just leave the old guy alone. And that's what I did.

Willie never came back to work and after a few more weeks I quit myself I reached the point where I couldn't go into any new house and it was only a matter of time before they fired me anyway I didn't give up on Willie because of what the cop said or even because Willie told me to go away I tell myself that those would be reasons enough but I know better

Willie was a good guy and my friend and I should go back and check on him again whether he wants me to or not but when my guilt is at its worst when I'm closer driving over to the east side of town or giving Willie a call something always stops me the memory of that half-second glimpse

into his house and the picture-perfect image of what I saw there gently swaying behind him. A faded black rocking horse with a brown leather saddle polished to a high sheen. And between the seat and the stirrups, fine gold lettering so bright I could read it across the too thick gloom. Nick's best steed.