CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "My neighbor has become obsessed with digging a hole in his backyard. We can't stop him" Creepypasta

Episode Date: September 10, 2021

CREEPYPASTA STORY►by epadelixe: https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comm...Creepypastas are the campfire tales of the internet. Horror stories spread through Reddit r/nosleep, forums and blogs, rather than word of mouth. Whether you believe these scary stories to be true or not is left to your own discretion and imagination. LISTEN TO CREEPYPASTAS ON THE GO-SPOTIFY► https://open.spotify.com/show/7l0iRPd...iTUNES► https://podcasts.apple.com/gb/podcast...CREEPY THUMBNAIL ART BY►Jan Drawc: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/Nx...SUGGESTED CREEPYPASTA PLAYLISTS-►"Good Places to Start"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g7YCb...►"Personal Favourites"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AEa2R...►"Written by me"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gX6RA...►"Long Stories"- https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list...FOLLOW ME ON-►Twitter: https://twitter.com/Creeps_McPasta►Instagram: https://instagram.com/creepsmcpasta/►Twitch: http://www.twitch.tv/creepsmcpasta►Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/CreepsMcPastaCREEPYPASTA MUSIC/ SFX- ►http://bit.ly/Audionic ♪►http://bit.ly/Myuusic ♪►http://bit.ly/incompt ♪►http://bit.ly/EpidemicM ♪-This creepypasta is for entertainment purposes only-

Do you want seconds? Betty Miller asked, almost startling me out of my thoughts. It had been an unusually quiet dinner within Millers, and so I'd retreated into my head for a moment, but Betty had shook me from my thoughts as I finished the last of my peas. Certainly, that sounds fantastic. I smiled at her as she lifted my plate and headed towards the kitchen. Hank, the patriarch of the family, sat at the head of the table, biting into his second helping of pork with a frown on his face. Normally, Hank would be the heart of conversation

as we discuss sports or current affairs, or his own family matters. But tonight, he sat quietly, savoring his food and leaving the dinner meeting feeling a little tense. To his left sat Timmy, Hank and Betts his only son, a boy of about ten or eleven. He meekly pushed his peas around his plate in an effort to make them magically disappear, But years of experience had taught me that it never works like that.

The walls of the room were covered with family pictures. There was Timmy in his baseball uniform. Hank and Betsy dressed finely on their wedding day, a picture of the family out in a nice restaurant, or a picture of Timmy as a baby. The family's most precious moments stood proudly on display, and I knew Hank was very happy with his family. It was the complete opposite of my house that sat with barren white walls. for I had no real family left, no wife, and especially no kids.

Not that it bothered me, but it did become a tad lonely at times, so I was thankful to have met Hank when I moved in next door, and even more thankful that they were occasionally have me over for dinner. I figured I would broach the lingering question in my mind. Hank, are you feeling okay today? You've been a little quiet, I asked. Hank finished chewing the rest of the pork before answering Everything's fine, had a bit of a rough day at work

But then I came home and He trailed off looking out of the nearby window towards the backyard And I asked hoping he would continue what he started And I felt something a little off about the yard out there Like this one spot It just didn't look right

Or maybe didn't feel right I don't know, hard to put my thumb on it, he said, stabbing his fork into another piece of pork. Oh, the yard looks great, quit being such a perfectionist, Betsy said, entering the room with my second plate of food. I thanked her, and after that the subject was dropped, and conversation turned to more normal affairs. But the whole rest of the night, I could see Hank's wondering eyes travelling sporadically towards the window,

peering out at the backyard, as if drawn to something the rest of the, us couldn't see. The next day when I returned home from work, I noticed that Hank was outside in his yard. His yard was the definition of pristine, neatly trimmed hedges, bright green grass, and flowers that simultaneously gave the area a pleasant aroma and eye-catching color. It was a bit strange to see that he was digging some sort of hole right in the center of his yard. It seemed a complete violation of the serenity of his backyard.

Hank was working hard, bringing up shovel after shovel of dirt and placing it in an ever-grown pile to the side. I figured he was set out to fix whatever imperfection he had seen the day prior. But, looking at the depth of the hole he had already made, made me think it was not a simple imperfection. I speculated that he must be putting in a tree, or looking for lost treasure, or even... I stopped my mind there,

but undeniably there was a feeling in the air of something amiss, something unnatural. But what is unnatural about digging a hole? I thought it better to ask him what he was digging the hole for. After all, he's always been open and friendly. At least that's what I thought. I yelled out to him from my own backyard. Hey, Hank, what you're working on over there? A little nosy I know, but curiosity had gotten the better of me.

Hank sat down his shovel and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. His face was wet with perspiration and his eyes were filled with tiredness. A scowl formed as he looked over at me. The first time I had ever seen the man look so miserable. It wants to come out now, Hank said in a robotic tone. I heard him clearly enough, but the response didn't make sense to me. It gave more questions than answers. What, what wants to come out?

Was all I could say. At that moment, his eyes lit up, as if broken out of a trance. He looked at me for a brief second with confusion, shook his head. Sorry, pal, a long day today. Paluk had to come out here and fix some of this mess. I felt awkward about the whole thing. After all, it looked like he made a bigger mess than he fixed. But I brushed it off.

Ah, well, make sure you take a break. Get yourself some water too. He looked pretty tired. I yelled out as I unlocked the door to my house. He nodded at me. We'll do, he said as I stepped inside. The next two days were eerily similar. I'd come home from work and see Hank in his backyard, continuing to dig and dig with seemingly no end in sight. By this point, I could really only see Hank's head poking out of the hole as he tossed dirt behind him. Geez, Hank, you're quite the worker. What exactly are you trying to fix?

I yelled out to him while approaching from my own backyard. Hank scowled at me, but didn't give me an answer. I thought maybe he hadn't heard me, so I approached and looked down into the hole. I have to say, it felt hard to me. The once beautiful yard was now blemished by this hole, and the grass, normally trimmed once a week, was beginning to get long and scraggly.

The hole was certainly getting deeper, but to what end? Hank was sweating profusely, his lips were dry and cracked, his clothes stained with dirt and grime. I stood there for a few seconds, thinking Hank would acknowledge my presence, but he instead continued his work, seemingly doing his best to ignore my existence. There was something strange about being around the hole. The air was stale, as if a subtle odor from the hole, had permeated into the dull wind. and there was a rising feeling of uneas in my chest. Looking for treasure, I asked, saying it loud enough that he would certainly hear me.

Hank threw down his shovel before turning to look at me. His face was coated with a layer of dirt, but had a gross sheen of sweat as well. There was fire in his eyes, and they seemed to widen. It was as if I had asked a violet in question. Mind your damn business, he said. sternly, I was taken aback. I had never seen him angry or show any sign of hostility towards me. But maybe I'd cross the line. I shrugged and turned away, walking back to my house as Hank picked up the shovel once again. I tried to ignore and forget about what had happened with Hank.

I had other things to do, and if you wanted to dig a stupid hole for no reason, then that really was his business. I tried to distract myself with the usual tell. television shows or books, but my mind kept wondering back to Hank and that hole. I couldn't figure out what he was doing it for, and for some reason it bugged me. More than it should have. From my living room, I could suddenly hear the voices of Hank and his wife, but they grew louder and louder until I was certain the two were screaming at each other. I raced at the window, curious to see what was going on out there. I saw Hank's wife, Betsy, screaming at him.

something I'd never seen before. I never saw them bicker or argue or anything really. It was a total surprise and he shattered the illusion of them being a perfect family. Are you not going to eat dinner? It's getting cold. You need to take a break. Betty yelled at him. Don't you understand how important this is? I don't have time for that right now. Hank yelled back. You've been at this all day. How am I supposed to know how important this is when you haven't taught me anything about it? You need to take a break and eat something. This isn't good for you.

you, she yelled. Got good daylight left to keep digging. I'm not going to squander it to eat your slop. Now get the hell back inside and don't let me see you out here again. I'd never seen Hank act like this before. He was completely out of character. Was this how he really was? Was his friendly demeanor a facade?

Either way, I thought I should try to do something to diffuse the situation. I felt horrible for his wife. As I watched the tears rushed to her eyes as she ran back inside the house. house. I grabbed a cool gate raid from my fridge and headed outside toward Hank. He'd deepened the hole to the point he could stand inside it and not be spotted. I could see he was using a pick now. Each strike to the earth sent small flecks of dirt flying up out to the hole. I felt a bit nervous as I approached. If he was going to yell at his wife like that, there was no telling how he'd react to me. But I felt how to try to bring the man to his senses.

I stopped before getting too close to him, thinking maybe I can entice him out of the hole with a drink. Hank? Come on, man. Why don't you take a small break? Yeah, drink this gaitrade at least. You need to hydrate. I said, holding the gatorade out in front of me. Hank's lips were cracked now, on the verge of beginning to bleed.

I don't know how he could keep working like that without taking a drink. But it appeared he was going to take the bait as he climbed out of the hole and walked. towards me. Without saying a word, he snatched the gaitreate from my hand, twisted the cap off, and greedily sucked down the drink in a matter of seconds. He said nothing to me. His body was beginning to look worn and frail. I guess it had been a while since it had eaten anything substantial. I have no idea how he had the energy to continue working in his current state, but something drove him forward. He licked his lips, now wet from his drink, before tossing the bottle of to the side and walking back to his work without so much as a thank you.

I followed him back to his hole and watched him climb down into the depths. But when I myself reached the edge and peered down into the hole, I could barely contain an audible gasp. The hole had gotten deeper than I thought, reaching darker layers of earth and laying at the bottom were hundreds of earthworms, wriggling and slithering in some sort of sick congregation. Why had they gathered here? Why this spot? I felt a trickle of sweat form on my forehead,

as dread crept in and sickness set in on my stomach. The flowers had withered under the aura of the stale air and the rest of the yard had overgrown from neglect. I watched as Hank picked up his shovel and chopped through a layer of earthworms. They wriggled madly, small spots of blood forming where they had been bisected. Nothing was going to stop Hank from removing the

dirt underneath. But, despite my nagging brain telling me to get the hell away from the hole, to let these things be, I instead stood my ground, trying once again to get through to Hank. Hank, I know it's not my business, but you're starting to scare people a bit. Why do you not want to take a break? What is so important about this hole? I mean, Christ, look at what's happening to your yard. Just look at the flowers and your grass. Hank threw his shovel to the ground in one quick motion and glared at me. Didn't I tell you to mind your business? Get the hell off my property.

Don't come near me again. He screamed at me, his face, blistering red from anger and heat. My heart sank as I returned back to my house, feeling deflated. But, in a sense, relieved to be away from that hole. At least I had tried. I kept an iron hank for the rest of the night. He kept digging in silence, making the hole deeper. When it got dark out, he found out.

finally stopped and went inside. I felt bad for Betsy and his son, having to deal with that, but thought maybe since he went inside, he'd calmed down. The whole situation didn't sit right with me, and I had trouble sleeping that night.

All I could see was worms being sliced in half. The situation didn't improve in the coming days. Hank was out there day after day digging that hole. From sun up to sundown, he worked without any signs of tiredness, but his body began to change. He dropped a lot of weight, his lips cracked

and pled from lack of water, his skin had been coated with dirt, his face withered into a gaunt skeletal-like appearance. The day seemed to get unnaturally long, as if the sun cheered him on and lingered in the sky that much longer. His wife continued to try to get him to come inside and stop digging, but he would repeatedly explode with anger, a miasma of hatred seemed to emanate from him, It made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, and this aura was only growing as the hole grew deeper. The air was growing worse, now stagnant, almost rotten. I couldn't be the only person to notice. The feeling of dread seeped into my brain like a constant pressure that never let up,

unless I got away from that hole. The deeper the whole got, the worse everything seemed to get. It was beginning to frighten me, but what was the whole got? What power does a hole in the ground have? All hell broke loose one day. Hank was outside digging his hole to nowhere, when he pulled himself up and out of the hole and went inside his house. Not more than five minutes later, I could hear yelling and screaming,

which grew louder as the screams moved outside and into my view. Hank had Timmy's wrist, almost dragging him. Timmy wailed and cried, pleading with his father to stop. Hank's wife, tail behind, also screaming at him to stop, doing the best to get Hank to unhand the boy. But he would push her away, even going so far as the slapper across the face at one point. It just needs a little blood and sweat. Get in the damn hole. You need to be a good son and help your father. Hank screamed, his eyes swirling with anger and delusion. I call the police. Digging the hole was one thing, but this had gone too far now.

They would never make it in time though As I watched the scene escalate Hank had his son near the edge of the hole His son screamed and fought clawing at the ground with his free hand Trying desperately to escape I ran to my back door Quickly unlocking it and tossing open the door

Before running down the small steps toward Hank and Timmy I had to try to stop him But as I ran over towards Hank I saw Timmy as he was tossed clear into the hole It was an echoing cry followed by a loud thud. There was a moment of silence, and then a scream of pain emanated from the hole.

I was seeing red by now. This man had always been such a family man. How could he have turned into such a monster? Hank studied the edge of the hole, evidently proud of his work, a slight grin on his face. Betsy was crumbled helplessly on the ground, unsure of what to do.

Her face red from being struck and the flowing tears. Hank didn't even see me coming as I crashed into him with a heavy tackle. The two of us fell to the floor, Hank hitting pretty hard with me landing softly on top of him, but the fight wasn't knocked out of him. I attempted to hit him in the face, but he quickly moved his head. I can't say I'm much of a fighter. His eyes turned on me and there was something fierce in them, something animal. You, I told you not to interfere.

Hank screamed at me before throwing me off of him with a force that seemed to defy human strength. I breathed hard as I landed on the ground. I didn't expect such power. For a man who looked as skinny as a twig, he sure as hell was strong. Timmy's cries had turned to haunting whales as I tried to bring myself to my feet. But the rotten air was making me sick. I felt weakness as if all my strength was being sacked. There was an odd pressure from the hole that rattled my head.

My head began to echo with pain as Timis Wales continued to emanate from the hole. I closed my eyes for a second, trying to get the feeling to pass. But this was all the time Hank needed. I felt a sharp pain as Hank's foot connected with my ribs. My mouth open instinctively, allowing the poop to escape under the grass and dirt surrounding me. I tried to crawl away, but I was so weak. I could barely think, but I could still feel. there was something coming out of that hole.

I could feel the intangible slithering of a force as it crawled out of the hole and began to infest my brain. Torrents of pain shot through my head like a thousand pinballs bouncing around within. The pain was terrifying, so much so that Hank's next kick to my ribs felt like child's play. I bugged again, my vision blurring and beginning to blacken. The next thing I saw was two men in blue wrestling Hank to the ground. It's almost out, you idiot.

It's almost out. Just a little more, Hank screamed as the officers cuffed him. They didn't care an ounce for his continuing protests as they picked him up and dragged him to the car. The pain in my head began to subside and I could once again hear the anguish cries of Hank's son from deep within the hole. I pared down into it.

Even with the sun overhead, I could barely see the bottom. I could feel that horrifying pressure again in my head as I looked down. The pain returned, but to a lesser degree. It was manageable this time. Hang on, honey, we're going to get you out of there, Betsy yelled down through tears.

It took almost two hours to get the kid out of the hole. His back was broken, and they had to use ropes and a special stretcher to lift him out. I watched the boy's face as he emerged from the hole, his eyes wide with terror. I felt it from him, the same force that it affected him. me had also affected him, perhaps to an even greater degree.

Everyone wondered how so deep a hole had been dug by a man lacking any sort of special equipment. But there was little talk of the pervasive pressure in the air, or the feeling of malaise that accompanied being near the hole. The closest inkling that something was awry amongst the others was that the two EMTs who had entered the hole had a peculiar look in their face, as if they'd felt something rotten. Maybe they had known something of it too. The hole sat abandoned for days after that. It had lost his greatest workman.

There was no more digging, no more fighting. But that strange pressure remained floating, imperceivably in the air around the hole. I didn't want to believe that there was something down there, but I could feel it in my brain, and it had affected him most deeply. Laying in a bed near crippled, his son probably feels it too.

The whispers happen at night. I call them whispers, but they were more like dizzy and chaotic noise. Strange gibberings that wouldn't allow me to drift off to sleep. They compel me towards the hole, beckoning me to go near it. But I pushed them aside, resisted. No good could come from it. Dig, dig, dig. The house next door was most of the house next door was most of the same.

vacant. Hank had been taken away for who knows how long. I'd hear the quiet footsteps of Betsy as she returned home from the hospital night after night, and up in the early morning, she would leave once again. The nights began to get long. The hole, still unworked, began to make noises. It started like scratching sounds, like sharp claws ripping against dirt. But soon these sounds became roars, caturril and earthy. They echoed out of the hole and into my ears. I looked out my window. Even in the pitch-black darkness of night, I could still see the hole, as if a spotlight shone upon it. My head hurt, terribly, as if the monster in the ground wanted to escape my brain. It called for me. Dig, dig, dig, chirps, roars and howls shook my head as if some

Some sort of primal madness had been unleashed. My bedchets laid damp from sweat. My notes of rest were now getting shorter and shorter, and my agitation only grew. I knew I shouldn't go near that hole, but it was like an addiction. One not made by me, but one that invaded my headspace I would not seem to leave. I would watch the hole from the safety of my window. Shadowy tendrils seemed to reach out of the hall, grasping aimlessly at the air. I thought of filling the hole back in.

I could grab a shovel and head over there. The dirt was all there still. All I would have to do is push it back into the hole and end the madness. But I feared what I would do instead if I did go over there. I tried it anyway. This had gone too far. I found myself shaking violently as I went outside to my shed. I could already feel the pressure increasing in my head.

The illusory tendrils seemed to stretch my direction, trying to pull me over. But as I approached the hole, they dissipated. The dirt lay neatly in a pile to the side, and I thought it best, not a delay, as I scooped up a shovelful and made my way over to the hole. But as it got closer, the pressure in my head increased, until it was doubled over, the shovel and dirt fell to the ground with a clatter. I held my head for a moment. My school vibrated as it felt like scratching from within my head. But I bore myself closer to the hole until I lay at the edge of the edge of the ground. abyss. I showed my light down there trying to get a look at what may lurk at the bottom.

It took less than a second for my eyes to adjust and get a glimpse of what lay down there. That was all the time it took for pure terror to set in. As if skittering legs had crawled across my skin, I leapt back instinctively. I brought myself to my feet. My body filled with adrenaline, carried me back to my home and straight up to my bedroom. My heart nearly broken. bursting from the strain and fear that overtook me. What lay down there was ancient, rotten to the core, a misline mess of parts and ideas that should have never combined. I don't know why it lay here of all places,

but it warmed and quaked, stretched and roared at the bottom, with only a small pile of dirt lying above it. It teetered on the edge of freedom, but one had to wonder how a thing of such power could be bound, by such a small layer of dirt. Timmy finally came home. He was walking.

I watched as Betsy guided him to the front door, as if he was some sort of zombie who had no idea where he was going. He looked like he had lost weight. His skin seemed to be ashen white. He retreated inside, and for a time I didn't see him. He never came out, at least not to my knowledge. Until one day, there was a sudden knock at my door. I opened the door almost hesitantly, as if some part of me knew who it was and what they wanted.

Timmy stood on my doorstep, his eyes wild, his face seemingly aged beyond his ears. The two of us stood in silence for what felt like too long, before I snapped out of it and managed to say something. You're back. How are you feeling? Timmy stared back at me with a blank expression on his face. You know what we have to do, he said. What do we have to do? I'm not sure what you mean.

Are you feeling okay? Maybe it's best you go back inside and get some rest, I said. I knew what he had meant, but I put on airs. I didn't want to acknowledge the whole or the thing within it anymore. I wanted things to go back to normal, so I thought acting normal might be the solution. But it wasn't. We have to get it out of there. I understand now.

I heard it. It spoke to me so clearly while I was down in that hole. It made me better. Stronger. He said as his eyes began to dilate and go wide, as if they were crazy. We have to do it. I can still hear it now. My dad was right about that hole.

We are so close. If the two of us work together, we can do it. We can free it. Go back to your mom and get some rest. I said, as it began. to close the door, but Timmy stuck his foot in the doorway before I could finish closing it. Please, please, he nearly screamed at me. I could see tears beginning to well in his frantic eyes, but I was adamant, and so I pushed his foot

out of the doorway and made sure the door closed and locked. I walked away, ignoring the continued sobs and pleas coming from beyond the closed door. It was a disturbing encounter, one that someone might have done something about had their mind been clear. But when my mind was reeling with grotesque images and ancient noises, it was hard to even keep myself composed. Night came once again and the sounds grew loud, extremely loud. I laid in my bed, holding my hands to my head, trying to shield myself from the horrific noise. I didn't want to hear those damn animistic noises. I didn't want to be a part of it anymore. But somehow it drew me to me to be to. my window, where I could once again see the hole. And Timmy. Timmy stood outside in his

pajamas, barefoot, as if called from his slumber toward the hole. Tears rolled down his face, but there were not tears of sadness, for on his face laid an enormous smile. It was a smile that you'd not see from a boy, even if he were given the greatest riches or the deepest successes that most strived for. The smile was so much as to no longer be a sign of happiness, but a pervasive sign of a demented mind twisted by the thing that lay within the hole. And it was only a moment later, the boy, with his dirty feet, flung himself head first into the depths of the hole, until a second later, there was a loud crack.

And then, the noises stopped. The community was devastated beyond relief when they found out Timmy had. had broken his neck in the fall, and died. But none were more devastated than Betsy, who wept loudly in a wild display of grief, screamed and then collapsed near the hall as the emergency workers once again retrieve the boy. This time his body completely lifeless,

his head hanging unnaturally to one side. They blamed the hole and had put caution tape up around it this time before horribly leaving the sight, leaving the mother to her own devices without an ounce of care. I had to wonder why the men who came to pull the boy's body from the hole did not bother to fill it in before leaving. But I think they'd felt it down there and wanted no part in dealing with a hole past the minimum. The hole sat quietly and still for days after that. I kept my eye in it, but there was not a rumbling or stir of earth.

The unnatural sounds had dissipated and I was able to resume sleeping undisturbed for the most part. But I was still awake in the night. and find myself travelling to my bedroom window to get a look of the hole in the distance. It had become an almost nightly ritual, one that it felt a strange attachment to, despite the terror and misfortune it had caused. I didn't know what happened to the thing, to the noises, but as I pull myself up out of bed one night to take a look at the hole, I was surprised to see someone standing out there. It was Hank. I have no idea how he'd gotten back here after he was dragged away but he too like his son stood on the edge of the hole

peering down into the abyss Hank unlike his son meticulously crawled into the hole scaling down the wall like an expert climber until he was out of my sight I could hear digging and scratching for a few minutes it was louder than natural but not something I was unaccustomed to then the sounds once again Start

I waited and waited to see if Hank would come out of the hole I expected to see him climb out maybe even go back inside his house It had never dawned on me at the time to call the police And report that Hank was here I was too mesmerized by what was going on And so as I watched The beating of my heart grew faster

More rapid I could feel something coming And as a shadowy hand it came out of the hole, I could see that my instinct was correct. My heart hammered hard as the sounds returned to my brain, screeching lines, roaring birds, an amalgamation of beastial noises that had moulded into one cacophony. It wasn't Hank coming out of the hole.

It was something else. Whatever was down there, whatever had wanted to be set loose. It had finally found its freedom, and as my eyes set upon it, The ravening screeching my brain grew louder. It lumbered out of the hole, wobbly, or perhaps moving in a way I could not comprehend. My eyes could barely recognise the figure.

It was too alien, too strange, a primordial beast that was not meant to be seen by human eyes. I saw sharp claws and fearsome feathers, oily snake-like skin, but with dirt-jilled patches of fur. It had bone-like growths protruding, that seemed to shimmer in the night. Menacing feelers lashed out of its body,

as if tasting the cool air he had longed for. The stench of the thing was absolutely vile, a mixture of all dirt and rot. I felt sick to my stomach almost immediately, but I couldn't avert my eyes. My eyes were deadlocked on the creature, but my brain that screeched and screamed could only be thankful that the merciful night

had seen it fit to cast shadows in the creature so that I could not see it to its fullest. Had I seen the thing during the day? I'm not sure what would have happened. I felt a pressure in my chest, like my heart wanted to leap out, but the feeling dulled as it stumbled off toward the back door of the miller's home.

The door flew off its hinges with a loud banging noise. Even inanimate objects seemed to move aside for this thing. It was quiet for a few moments. And then I could hear a scream, terrified to the core. I scream that still haunts me. I heard another loud bang shortly after that. It came out the front door.

I could feel it drawing closer to me, as if it might come inside my house too. Like a child, I ran to my bed and got in, pulling up blankets above my head and trying to know the footsteps, a breathing and all the animal-like noises that seeped into my home. I didn't sleep the rest of the night.

There was no way I could. The monster had eventually lumbered off somewhere, And as morning dawned, I finally felt brave enough to trek outside. The pressure that emanated from the hole was now gone. The air had returned to its normal pure state, but the back and front doors of Betty's house were both blown off the hinges and free for anyone to walk in. I stepped inside the home and immediately found myself passing through the dining room,

heading for the stairs. The family pictures that had once hung on the walls were now on the ground, cracked and broken. I stopped and crouched, picking up a picture of the floor. The frame was damaged, but through sharded glass, I could see Tim's smiling face in his baseball uniform. A real smile this time, not the demented one I had last seen from him. I shook my head and put the picture back down.

The kitchen and living room were also in complete shambles, as if a tornado had passed through. I made my way to the stairs. "'Betsie?' I called out as I put my foot on the first step, but I didn't receive any response. I climbed the rest of the steps and peered in all the rooms as I made my way down the hall under the last room lay before me, and I knew this was the one.

I took a deep breath and knocked on the door, but again there was no response, so I pushed the door open. There was Betsy Miller. She was sprawled out on the bed, tear-filled tissues dot to the floor around her. Her fearful eyes were locked on the ceiling. Her mouth hung open as a remnant of a scream. I could see blood pulling around her. There was a hole in a chest, and I swear I could see a heart that lay still and quiet.

In her hand, she clutched one of the pictures that was once downstairs. A picture of Hank and Timmy and Betsy. Their smile shone brightly. I closed the door quietly, shaking my head in disbelief. I headed for the backyard. The hole was still there, and I nervously made my way over to it. The pressure was gone. The air was clear.

But still, the very sight of the hole made me nervous. As I peered down into the hole, I knew I was in for one more ghastly sight, as I saw the body of Hank. He too had an enormous. was hole in his chest, but his skin had been turned black, as if burned beyond recognition. His eyes were missing, or they'd been completely burned. Bit of his skeleton poked out of his burnt flesh. The earthworm seemed to wriggle around him, revelling in his death. I grabbed my shovel and began to fill in the hole.

Shovelful after shovelful, it went, with tears and sweat clouding my eyes. It took me hours of labour to fill the thing in. But as I finished, I felt a sense of relief, like I had righted a serious wrong. If only we had all done this sooner, was my only thought. I collapsed to the ground, trying to catch my breath. The tall grass seemed to almost envelop me by this point, and I could feel a lone worm crawl across my arm. I looked over at the flowers. They were completely dead by now, uncared for.

the petals had been eaten by the earth. And now, this house sat vacant. No family within. But the monster still lurks out there. I can still feel it.