Creepy - Plantation Ghost

Episode Date: February 28, 2022

History repeats...***Written by: Marie Redborne and Narrated by: Wafiyyah White***Bonus Episode: "Trapped" written by Keegan O’Connor***Find our reward tiers and how to get your bonus magnet at patreon.com/creepypod***You can also subscribe to us on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/creepypod***Sound Design by Pacific Obadiah***Title music by Alex Aldea Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information. Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

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Whether these stories truly happened or are simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories may contain graphic depictions of violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised. Presents Plantation Ghost, written by Marie Redbourne and narrated by Wafia White. It shouldn't have really surprised me to find out that one of my ancestors was a slave, but it still did. Hannah Porter was the name that the website gave me, but there wasn't even a picture, just a small blurb of a text that told me she had been born in 1842 and worked on a plantation. deep in Louisiana. Alexandria wasn't too far from where my grandparents lived.

My husband told me it was up to me if I wanted to find out more, that it was what I've wanted for a long time, and he was right. I was adopted at age too. My mom gave me up and went to prison for drugs, and I never really known any of my biological family. It's not that I felt my step-parents treated me badly. In fact, they've always been. been kind to me, but there's always a part of you that wants to know your past.

We talked about it over the next few days and decided to plan a trip the next time he had days off from his job. I called my grandparents to tell them that we were coming, but I didn't say why. They always jumped at any chance to see their grandson. The drive across Texas was slow, and I tried my best to sleep most of the way. It was not easy. I wanted to know more as soon as possible, and I was eager, so my body kept restless. Eventually, I took some sleep aid and drifted off. When I woke, we were already across state lines, and Dante was whining from the drive,

so we stopped at a McDonald's to let him play. An hour later, we were back on the road, and I decided to call local libraries and museums to see if anyone had old pleasures from the time, writing down the ones I'd, wanted to check out. The next day passed in a flash. We had a lovely dinner of hot water corn bread and greens and some shrimp and I put Dante to bed. Then I slept hard too, ready to start my search in the morning. Nana Brooks asked me as we cooked breakfast together about our visit and how Michael mentioned I was interested in finding my biological family. I sighed, rolled my eyes.

That man couldn't keep his mouth closed. She told me they were worried, of course. This wasn't the first time I tried searching. And in the past, I had been catfished by scammers pretending to be relatives. This time is different, Anna. I'm being more careful, I told her. I could tell she wanted to help, of course, but there wasn't much to offer. After they had adopted me, a lot got lost during multiple movies.

and even a house fire. I'll figure it out. And then we can make a new family tree, I promised her, giving her a hug. Michael and Dante spent the day with them as I ran up to one of the libraries, signing in as a guest as I checked their old genealogy records. They went back all the way to the 1700s,

so it wasn't difficult to find the error. But when I looked, I found nothing really. related to Hannah. Instead, it looked like someone had checked that record out. I asked the clerk who was the last person to look at them. She gave me a blank stare as if I asked a stupid question, so I rephrased it. I just mean, is there a way of knowing where the record went? She smacked her gum and logged onto the system, skimming through documents before discovering that the item had not simply been checked out.

It had been purchased. She explained that the Ferris estate bought the records for their ghost tour in January. Ghost tour? I asked for the info and searched it up. Surprised to see that it was an old colonial plantation 23 miles out of town. Was this the same place where Hannah had once been a slave?

It made my insides twist into knots as I imagine the place was now transformed into greedy exploitation again. I asked Michael if he would go the next day and convince Nana and Papa Brooks to watch Dante. The plantation was larger than I expected, at least 30 acres of land that covered the stretch of pastures where my ancestors had been forced to pick cotton. Just looking out at the fields and realizing that

now there were the same as they had been and her day brought me to tears. Michael slowed down as we reached the front gate. He tried to tell me that I didn't need to go through with it, but I told him that I did. I didn't expect him to understand. I'm in an interracial relationship. This is our third year of marriage,

and Michael is amazing. But I think being raised white, there's just some stuff he will never get. This is definitely one of those things. racism has been a part of our lives since day one. He told me and showed me that he will always stick by me. But this was a different type of hate. I couldn't even comprehend how anyone could ever do this to another human being.

I told him that I could go alone as I grabbed my purse and march to the front gate. The tour was about to begin. There was a small crowd nearby with lanyards and Michael and I got in line. I could tell he was upset. I knew he hated when I stormed off, and I knew he was on my side, that he'd always been on my side. After all, it was his idea to come down here.

I teared up again. I'm sorry, I told him. This is hard. And then we got inside and the tour began. It only got harder. Not because what we were seeing, the plantation was clearly a shithole that was about to cave in on itself, but because of what the guide was doing. As we moved from story to story, I began to realize everything they said was just a money-making scheme. Talks of haunting and lingering spirits, it all sounded lame as the guide took us upstairs.

Just then Michael phone buzzed, and he apologized. The guide gave him a glare and pointed towards the sign that warned no cell phones. So he stepped towards the courtyard as the group moved on. I went with them alone. The next room was the one of the slave gallows. The guide warned guests with young children against viewing it, saying, and I quote, The evidence of what happened here to those poor people is quite nightmarish. Bit of an understatement.

There were six or seven bunk beds in a room, probably half the size of my basement. It was tiny, cramped, and filling me with nausea. To thank Hannah and so many others here that they just wanted a better life. And then, as we reached the center of the, room, I heard a voice. It was a voice I never heard before and yet immediately recognized, like something out of a dream. It left me feeling frozen, flush and excited all at once. And it was not coming from the guide, no. She was still droning on about how the rooms were filled with spirits of slaves that once were crammed in here. This was a little.

lower voice, from the house itself. I turned and walked back to the upper balcony, feeling drawn to it. As I went back downstairs, it got louder. First, it was a muffle, the way you hear underwater. Then I was in the dining room, and it was sounding like a radio covered in static. My name, it knew me, and I knew it. I stepped into the library. and the voice was now so loud, I thought it was a freight train. I was expecting to see something there. I'm not sure what. Maybe a specter was waiting for me.

Instead, the room was suddenly quiet and empty. Yet it felt like it was flooded with sadness and anger. Immediately, I felt compelled to check the shelves, pulling book after book. I didn't know what I was looking for until I found it. An old leather-bound diary tucked away behind the others. Forgotten. Immediately I stashed it into my purse. I didn't know what it was, but I knew I needed to read it.

Back at the Brooks house, Michael put Dante to bed, and Nana asked me if I found anything. They didn't know about the ghost tour, and I wasn't sure what to say about it until I learned more. Nothing yet, but I think I'm on the right track. She seemed a little sad to hear that. We hugged and I kissed her cheek and I reminded her that we would always be family no matter what. Then I scrolled myself away in the upstairs bathroom and took out the diary. I opened to a random page, or at least I think I did. What I read shocked me.

Master Porter has asked me to stay in his room again. The missus has gone and it's much bigger than in here. I know he looks at me when she's away. I think he may even have other intentions. I often forget our nights together. I think it's better that way. The others do not like that I get this special treatment. Betty has said that she thinks I flirt and she will tell.

the misses, chop off another finger they will, or worse, wind up like William. But I can't say no. That would be a fate worse than death. Now with child on the way, I have to keep my head down. All the signs were there. This was Hannah's diary. I was compelled to keep reading, finding entry after entry of her life in the colonial prison she called home. The Mrs. has been angry with me lately. Seems to think this child is actually

the masters, but it ain't. I would never let him touch me that way. I know he wants to, and I told him if he do, then the Mrs. will chop him to bits. Betty keeps whispering secrets into her ear, saying that I am something I'm not. I just want to have a life of my own. I can see myself with this baby living a good long life in the northern states. Maybe one day I can get there. One entry made me pause and I wanted to cry. Hannah described how she lost her child. God left me today.

My baby has gone to heaven. I don't think God wanted us to be here, to suffer like this. Either that or God is a liar, and the devil is the one in charge. I don't know what is left of me. Nothing really. Maybe I should join my baby. I wanted so badly for a happy ending, yet I knew that wasn't possible. More depression and despair-filled Hannah's thoughts as the days went on.

Master says it's good my child is gone. Says that mean it wasn't his or it be strong. When he smokes and smiles, I want to tear his face off. My eyes burn. Hell fire would be too good for him. I think he knows my thoughts. I think he reads this diary. And I think the Mrs.

A knock on the bathroom door made me jump. Michael asked if everything was okay. I put the diary away and flushed. Sorry, just a stomach bug, I answered. That night when everyone was asleep, I used my phone to find the last entry of the diary. Betty was bought by a man from Tallahassee today. Now I'm all alone.

I don't think it will end well for me. I think they plan to end my life because I know what they've done. My child ain't dead. They took it and gave it to Betty and told me otherwise. How was I to know? She was pregnant, same as me. But Betty threatened them, and so they sent her on her way with money and child both.

My child. I want so badly to hate her, but I know she also did this to give him a better life than I could. The real devils, all these white ones, taking all I love, and now using me like cattle. Tonight, I take back what's mines. I tossed and turned all night, knowing the final entry likely meant the slave owners had killed Hannah, and that explained why my heritage had been lost to time.

It saddened me to realize I may never learn more, or that there was wasn't more to be told. I fell asleep with the diary and lap, too tired to even cry anymore for Hannah. My dreams would be my grieving. When I woke, Michael was reading the diary. He gave me a look that made me feel ten inches tall and told me he was sure I had a perfectly good explanation for taking the diary, closing it shut and passing it back to me before adding, that he hoped I could give the owner an answer when we returned this to them today. I kept quiet, head bowed and subdued as we drove back to the plantation.

There were no tours that day, and Michael had called on our behalf. I was being scorned by my own husband, and it made me feel awful. Still, I kept it together, as I entered the main foyer and met the current, owner of the plantation, an older gray-headed gentleman. The man told me that he was glad to see the diary returned and even went so far as to say, I should be glad he didn't call the police.

I didn't steal, I mumbled. He started on this tirade about how everything in the house belonged to his family for generations. My ears and skin felt like they were burning. So, then your family were slave owners, I said, looking down but feeling something inside me I hadn't felt before. He huffed at me dismissively and said nothing could change the history of what happened there, that everyone owned slaves back then. I bawled my fist up. At least acknowledge what they did was wrong. The older white man stood there, looking at me as though I were a pitiful strong. stray dog. He told me that he couldn't imagine the pain. I must suffer to know that our story was over. It was a phrase covered in condescension. I don't think it is, I replied in an icy tone.

I followed him to the library where he tucked the diary back in, as he told me that there were far more compelling stories to be told than that one, ones that aren't meant to be told at all, I felt him loitering over me, looking down his nose at me. I just couldn't stand there and take it. Like how your ancestors murdered and abhorter, I guessed. His eye twitched, and he didn't deny it. Instead, he poured some bourbon and said dryly that those were strong accusations to make, warning me to steer clear.

Then from behind me I heard a voice. the same one from the other day. It's you, Master Ferris, that should watch your back, it whispered. But clearly, I was the only one that heard it. So here's what I suggest you do. Be a good girl and clean the dirt off your sandals and then leave this place and never return. Hannah Porter is no one, just like you are no one.

No one around here is going to believe your wild story. and, more importantly, no one is going to care. He huffed as he finished his drink and left the library. He gave me one last dismissive glance, remarking to me that he knew I could find the way out alone. But I wasn't focused on him at all. My eyes were trained on the mirror in the hallway. At the reflection I saw, it was not my own.

I felt faint as I stare hard at the woman in the mirror and stumbled into the table, knocking Ferris empty glass to the ground. Her eyes was sharp blue, like mine. Braided hair and black dress, bare feet with scrapes and bruises on her legs, tassels on her wrist, to hide where she had been marked by her would-be owners. My blood is your blood, her voice told me. Hannah? I whispered back. Meanwhile, Ferris was looking at me the way you do when you think someone has lost it.

He announced that he had changed his mind and was calling the police, telling me that I was clearly unhinged as he looked down at the broken glass. In the reflection, I saw Hannah pick up the shattered pieces. His blood killed our blood. Blood must be spilled. Justice must be meted out, Hannah told me. My face felt flush, as time seemed to slow down. She was asking me to kill this man. It would be easy enough. A slit across the neck and he would bleed out on his pristine white carpet. But no, I shook the thought from my mind. I couldn't. Besides, I knew there was something else there, something hidden. Hannah had connected to me from beyond the grave, and I needed to know more. Wait, as he hurriedly swept up the broken glass.

I'm sorry, sir. I sometimes get a bit fidgety. It was an accident, I told him. He kept looking at me as though I had lost my mind, as I gathered it up and placed the shards on the table, barely noticing as I cut myself in the process. I mumbled another apology and darted out the door to where Michael had parked, trying to push away tears. What happened in there? he exclaimed when he saw the cuts on my hands.

I can't explain it. I just need to hold my baby right now. It was the weight of Hannah's laws finally hitting me, the weight of losing my own heritage. Hannah had everything taken from her, and I understood that. I still felt that I didn't know my family. Something was preventing me from learning more. It made me feel helpless. I went to a dark place that night after I put Dante to bed. I kept looking at the cuts on my hands and thinking about the scrapes on Hannah's arms.

I really, truly, wanted to hurt Mr. Ferris. His smug expression and pompous attitude weren't based on racism. This was a deeper hatred of anyone that was different from him. Everyone was beneath him. I could tell. And because he had everything as a result, I now had nothing. Hannah's story was over. I realized as I took a shower, just as I made a tangible connection to her,

we were being separated. It wasn't right. She deserved her justice, her vengeance. I was toying with the sharp pieces of, of the tile in my hand as I washed myself, not even recalling how I found it in their old shower. I realized that this was all wrong. It shouldn't be this way.

This voice shouldn't be suppressed. These scars needed to be seen. I thought as I began to mimic the marks on her arms, running the broken towel along my skin. I needed to feel her pain, keep that connection alive. Before I knew it, my blood was mixing with the clean water and I felt faint, toppling into the bathtub. Grandpa was the one that found me. Using a spare key to get in the room, he carried me to his office and dried me off, giving me a warm shawl as my body shook and I was mesmerized at the fresh scars I had given myself.

This didn't feel like my body was a control of it. was a control of itself. This was an act of something far deeper screaming inside of me to break free. Gave me quite a scare, he commented. Where are Michael and Dante? I whispered. He told me that they were downstairs, that they didn't need to know what happened and offered me a warm beverage.

He told me that he knew the hurt I was feeling. It's a hurt that I think me and Nan been carrying a bit too long, he admitted. I sat up, feeling lightheaded. What do you mean? Nana told him what I came for, about my family and their connection to them. Grandpa thought maybe seeing the plantation would be the end of it. But well, I always knew you were the type to keep searching till there was nothing left, he commented.

It's my story to tell, but I made a mistake and now it's over. I admitted sourly. He took out a small gold key from his desk, explaining how they lost most everything in that fire all those years ago. But I had best believed that Grandpa saved the most important things, especially surrounding my birth, knew that it would need to come out in the open one day. It almost felt as though he was rambling as he passed me the key and closed his palm around mine. We have been keeping this from you too long anyhow.

It's best you see this through to the end, he whispered. What is it for? I asked. finding the truth about Hannah, maybe more, maybe why tragedy followed the family all these generations, he suggested. There was a knock at the door, and I slipped the key into my pocket, and he held his fingers to his lips. We keep this between us. Too many times we have been in danger for saying anything else to anyone, he warned,

and told me that none of them. One of us will be safe as long as that plantation is still standing. Then he opened up the door and smiled at Nana. He apologized as he offered the excuse that he was helping me look decent. Nana was ready for supper and had grown impatient. There was some tension in the air at dinner. I could tell from Michael's expression that he was ready to go home, and it hurt me more than words could convey to realize that he wasn't on my side anymore.

I kept fidgeting with the key, imagining what it might unlock, an answer for what happened to Hannah's child, and to the fear that I saw in my grandpa's eyes. That night I spoke to Papa again, confused about what to do. I need to find what this opens. But I don't know how to get back to the plantation. Michael isn't speaking to me, and we have to go back home tomorrow. I feel like I missed my chance, I confided in him. This means a lot to you, he asked. More than anything, I told him. He sighed and said, he'd take me there. But Iris, he warned, this will not end well. I hugged his neck and told him thank you at least a dozen times.

The next morning he made up an excuse about an apparent forgotten appointment to Nana and asking if I would drive him. That was my cue. Michael didn't like it, of course. Taking another day off work wasn't something he had planned, but he relented. I sincerely hope this would. be the only time I ever had to lie to him. A half an hour later, Papa and I were on our way to the plantation. What did you mean the other night? About our family not being safe, I asked as we got

close to the gate. He was trying to ignore the question, so I pulled the car over and demanded an answer. Grandpa, if there is something you aren't telling me, now is the time, I insisted. He looked towards the cotton fields. His eyes filled with sadness. The fire was no accident, he told me. The Ferris family retaliated against us, and we had to hide. They? They burned your houses?

I asked and discussed. His response shocked me. He told me that they did that themselves to protect me. It was me that they had taken, trying to control our family like they'd did all those years ago. They took me. But why? After Hannah died, there was nothing to prove that our family was connected to theirs, I said. He said he wished that that were true, but their taste for hate didn't end just because Hannah was gone. And the key I now had would probably tell me

the rest of the story. We parked a short while later, joining the tour guide as we explored the empty manner. My mind was buzzing with questions as I listened for Hannah, hoping she would tell me where to go. The master bedroom, I realized, the answers were there. I grabbed grandpa's hand, and we managed to sneak away from the crowd, entering the room. Search everywhere. It's here, I told him. He was worried that Ferris would find us, his eyes full of fear, a deep kind of Just as he finished giving his warning, I pulled an old trunk from behind the headboard. It looked like it had been tucked away for at least a hundred years. That's when I heard Hannah's voice plead for me to open it.

I took out the key as I told Grandpa to watch the door. Inside I found newspaper articles, hospital records. A trail of bread comes I needed to unravel. author porter found guilty of murdering his family in Alexandria to be hung next Sunday one headline said author that had to be hannah's boy i saw the next article which to tell a landowner buying porter as a slave and his sentence being commuted it was the ferris family the ones that were in charge of the plantation There was more, birth certificate changing author's name, making his identity nothing but a page in history. And as the generations went forward, I saw the same pattern from the Ferris family.

They had suppressed us, controlled us, and taken us down for nearly a century. Fires, murder attempts, bankruptcy. It was a box filled with proof of their insatiable appetite for hate. This has to stop, I whispered. Then I heard a sharp shriek, and I jumped to my feet. I saw Ferris standing there, holding my grandpa like a crumpled doll, as he crushed his windpipe with his bare hands. I held my hand over my mouth as I watched him squeeze the life from my grandpa,

and then the man turned his attention on me. He silently closed and locked the door. I knew he was going to kill me. me next. He started telling a dramatic story of how two impoverish and angry people had broken into his house, practicing what he say to the police, told me that he would say he was defending himself, trying to stop them from taking out their racial hate on him in his house. He was mocking me, telling me that he knew who they would believe. His family had owned this house for generations. Everything here was his, including me and my family. If you kill me, then your revenge will end.

You'll have nothing left to control, I warned. It was a terrible excuse to keep me alive for a few moments longer, but I wasn't sure what else to say. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I heard Hannah, she was racing towards me, my own heartbeat matching hers. He cackled and threatened my own own child, reminding me that he could blackmail us again and put Dante under his oppression too. It was the last straw. I snapped. I jumped towards him and smashed my fist against his face, but he was strong. I felt that I was an aunt against a freight train. His fingers were wrapped around my own neck faster than I could think. My air being crushed as I kicked and screamed. Then another voice joined my own scream.

Hannah, I saw her. She was filled with the righteous indignation. Her hands wrapped around the chains that once bound her. She used the mystical bonds and grabbed Mr. Ferris by the throat, yanking him back. His face was filled with confusion and fear as he was slammed against the wall by the ghost, her body materializing before me as she took her hand and placed it in mind. My blood is your blood, and now his blood shall pay for hours, she whispered. I felt a new sense of power come over me.

I was at his throat, raking my nails into his eyes, kicking his head and stomach over and over until his body was still. Then I bashed his skull and. No, we did it. Hannah and I put an end to the oppression this family had given mind for generations. I stumbled backwards, gasping for breath as Ferris fell dead on the ground. It was over. I saw Hannah's eyes softer now, comforted that she found peace. Her spirit merged with my body, and I felt a flood of serenity overwhelming me.

Immediately I reached for my cell phone and called 911. When they arrived, I showed them, Grandpa. I felt a crushing weight land on my chest. Then I showed them the trunk, which proved that the role Ferris had in my family suffering. Told them how Ferris had lowered us away from the Torah group to torture us in some perverted attempt to recreate his family legacy. Whatever I said, by some miracle worked, and they took me to the nearby hospital for recovery. Michael came that afternoon, distraught by what happened and angry that I had lied.

Your grandfather is dead, and your nana will have nowhere to live. How could you be so selfish going back to that place? he asked. I didn't expect him to understand the reason I had to fight for my heritage. My entire family has had their lives stolen from them. For too long, Michael. Hannah helped me give back what they had lost. And I discovered myself, I told him. I won't pretend this was a happy ending.

We became estranged, not long after, and I don't see my son as often as I would like. But we are working through this, and I am now stronger than I was before. I know I can't go back to the life I had, the lies that the faire is told about my family. Now Hannah's voice is strong within me, and I can finish her story.

My heritage can be rich again. Now I hope the future is a free one. Fooier bonus episode. Creepy Presents. Trapped. Written by Keegan O'Connor. My downhill sparrow started about three weeks ago. Was it weeks?

Could it have been weeks? No, that's not possible. Maybe it is. Either way, it was a while ago before I got stuck here. I was simply minding my business one day. I was sitting on my couch, slouching deeply into it in a deep, comfortable trance. Staring at the TV as my mind went slowly numb to disdainting. distress from my job, life, family, everything, until that damn phone began to ring.

Oh, do I miss my phone now? I picked it up, breaking me from my trance. It was work per usual. I sighed heavily before regrettably asking, hello? My boss answered, hey, we need you to cover a shift now, can you do it? Well, that's my boss for you. Short, sweet, right to the point, borderline rude. He spoke in a way that said, hey, how are you?

Seemed like too much of an ask. I responded in a groggy tone, sure. Before I could finish that thought, not even a letter coming out of my mouth, he hung up the phone. I sighed before reluctantly getting up off my couch. I dredged over to my shower and turned it on and get ready for work. Pretty normal routine, right? The next part is what messed me up.

I got on my uniform of a black-collared shirt and jeans. I wore boots, which are now my saving grace. I walked out of my apartment and went to the elevator, hoping to ignore any of my neighbors. I opened the door to the elevator and stepped in. The cheesy jazz elevator music started playing, but then stopped. Almost immediately the noise in the elevator stopped. It was super quiet.

The silence was deafening before the doors opened again. Except it wasn't my apartment complex. It seemed like an area that was familiar and unfamiliar. at the same time. Comfortable and uncomfortable, bold and calm, it seemed like open rooms all attached to each other. They had bland yellow wallpaper reaching around each room. It looked old and some parts looked new. It screamed a red flag at me, but I made the horrible mistake of getting off the elevator to check it out. I stepped onto the carpet and made a wet squish under my boot. The carpet was moist. It was gray and moist. The luminescent lights above me hummed obnoxiously

loud, but it was quiet enough to almost ignore. It seemed the equivalent of someone whispered screaming at you, but I immediately had a gut feeling that something was wrong. I turned around to get on the elevator, but it was gone. It was there two seconds ago, but then it was gone. It wasn't possible. I slammed my hand against the wall, hoping to feel for a door, but it felt pointless. I knew I just needed to find an exit. So I began to walk. The carpet constantly making a squish sound everywhere I step. It sounded as if I was walking on grapes. The place seemed weird. It was quiet except for that humming noise. I yelled out, hello? Anyone there? I'm looking for a way out. The words that came out of my mouth echoed. I got no response. Just the hum of the lights. I began walking around.

It felt strange. The rooms were all the same except for some had a different wallpaper, still yellow, but a different pattern. I felt paranoid turning the corner of each room waiting for some malevolent surprise waiting for me. I checked my watch and nothing. I wasn't moving. I tried shaking it and slapping my hand against it, but nothing worked. It stood frozen. I thought maybe the batteries were dead.

So I kept walking. As I took each moist, squishing step I felt watched. Like a pair of eyes following me each step I took. I hated it. I felt alone and not alone. Maybe I'm just losing it for how long I've been here. How long have I been here? I whipped my head around almost enough to get.

me whiplash as a shadow of a hand disappeared from the corner. Hello? Anyone there? I saw your hand. I began to run to the corner where I saw the hand. God, I shouldn't have. I saw a man standing there. Just standing there.

He was tall, broad shoulder, short hair, and wore a flannel shirt and jeans. But his face. God, his face. He didn't have one. My heart sank. Then began pounding like a drum after realizing that the man in front of me had no face. I felt his eyes on me, but he had none. He just stood there, not moving.

I stood in fear. Just dumbfounded. How could he have no face? Was he alive? It was as if reading my mind. it waved at me. I immediately took off in the other direction. I began running.

I didn't look back, but just ran. I ran past the same walls over and over again, twisting and turning through different rooms. I was running until I ran out of breath. I couldn't let that thing find me. I ran until my feet ached and my lungs couldn't take it anymore. I stopped at a room with a death. desk and chair. I whipped the chair out and hit under the desk. I was panning heavily. I felt like I ran a marathon.

Well, I probably did. I sat there, breathing in and out. I lost track of how long I was under the desk. Eventually, I went to check the doorways surrounding the room. Nothing. I lost whatever the hell I was. my first thought was to arm myself but my second thought was that this desk is new after wandering here for what seemed like hours even days

I'd never seen a desk I didn't know what to think about it but that wasn't my concern that faceless thing out there was my concern so I began to open the drawers nothing I needed to find something. I needed help.

I began to walk again. The fear of being watched race through my mind. My body being on high alert. My paranoia skyrocketed, and I began to fear turning the corners. I can't tell how long it's been. It feels like I've been wandering around for days, but I don't feel hungry. I don't feel thirsty. I just feel scared.

The shadows seem to extend longer and further in front of me. I haven't seen that faceless man in a while. I feel like I need something to break this crippling loneliness, so I keep walking in this hellish state. After a while, I eventually heard footsteps pounding against the moist carpet. I turned around to see something. A black silhouette looked like a child on all fours. but the arms bent backwards.

It had long, shaggy black hair. It had bright red eyes, and it growled low and ferociously at me. It seemed more animal than human. I stared at it, unmoving. I felt the same as when I first encountered the faceless man. How long ago did I see him again? Never mind. It doesn't matter.

The beast kept growling at me. me. I slowly walked to the door for it to snarl at me as I stepped closer to the next room. As soon as I got close enough, I ran through the door. I heard it running after me. I underestimated the beast's speed, just catching up to me and fast. I began to run and kept running through endless doors. Anytime I turned around, I saw the beast chasing me. I growled hungrily at me. I couldn't keep running. I needed to stop.

My body couldn't take it anymore. I felt exhausted. I turned around to see the beast a foot away from my legs. In a fight or flight motion, I turned and kicked the beast in his face. It didn't turn grabbed down to my boot. It began shaking my leg, causing me to drop to the carpet. I began shaking my boot. But I couldn't be able to.

pull away. The beast's jaw was a vice grip. I began untying my boot in hopes of getting away. I stumbled trying to untie it with a little strength I had compared to this beast. I finally managed to untie my boot and get free. I began to run, but I heard no footsteps. I turned around and the beast vanished, along with my boot. My sock was now damp from. walking on the moist carpet. God, I hate that feeling. I began to wander more in these deep rooms. I kept looking into the rooms.

Eventually, the rooms became more dilapidated. They seemed to rot. The yellow wallpaper became more and more torn, revealing solid wood behind it. And then the wood began to look more rotted than the wall. wallpaper. Some lights were suddenly broken and shattered glass on the floor. I stepped with my one boot avoiding the glass with my uncovered foot. The lighting became darker and darker, almost dark enough that I couldn't see where I was stepping. I've been stumbling through these rooms

for days. I have no clue. I only found destroyed desks and rotted wooden chairs. and then I stopped. I got tired and I was about to sit down. My legs couldn't take the walking. It was when I was starting to sit, that I felt the floor beneath me fall away. I began to fall and then crashed into another floor. This one hurt as I landed.

Once my vision was clear, it seemed to I was in a concrete room. Same as where I was, but concrete. God, how long's it been since I've been home? I knew this time not to yell. If it was anything like the last rooms, I wasn't alone. I got up and began wandering the new level. I saw things different this time. I saw crates, some small, some large, but mostly scattered.

I grabbed a small one and slammed it against the ground trying to open it. It was a loud bang that echoed around the walls, and I waited, and nothing happened. So I picked up the crate again and slammed it down again. This time a wood panel broke off. I was able to feel around inside. There was something metal in there. I grabbed it and pulled it out.

Oddly enough, it was a hatchet. But it looked old. It looked like it was from years ago. The blade was rusted, but still sharp. and the handle rotted but sturdy. I turned to search for more crates, but to my surprise, I saw something standing fairly close to me. I jumped, backing up at the same time.

I gripped the hatchet and pointed it at the beast. It had large hands, white, dead, cold eyes, and its skin was loose. It looked stitched together in a sick, demented way. It shrieked at me. Once again, my flight or fight kicked in. I swing the hatchet, swinging at the creature who is now attempting to grab me. I sunk the blade into its skull, crushing it. It leaked clear liquid and dropped heavily to the ground. I walked over to it, kicking it in the side, trying to make sure it was dead.

didn't move. I reached down and grabbed the hatchet. I figured I'd have to yank it out hard, but it just sort of slipped out. It revealed layers and layers of skin before showing a skull. I just keep searching these crates hoping to find something,

something that'll get me out of here. That's how I came across this old phone. It has a very low baton. and no service. But if this gets uploaded, please, please send help. Get me out of this hell. I'm scared.

I don't know how long I've been here. I'm starting to forget my life outside of this. If you find me, get me out of here. I can't take it anymore. And you're growling getting louder and closer. If you somehow managed to find me and I'm not alive anymore. I'm sorry.

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