Full Body Chills - This Is Not A Ghost Story

Episode Date: December 20, 2022

A story of mischief and horror burrowed in the walls of an ancient home.This Is Not A Ghost StoryWritten by Travis BrownYou can read the original story and view the episode art at fullbodychillspodcast.com. Looking for more chills? Follow Full Body Chills on Instagram @fullbodychillspod. Full Body Chills is an audiochuck production. Instagram: @audiochuckTwitter: @audiochuckFacebook: /audiochuckllcTikTok: @audiochuck

This episode was produced with audio effects in full surround sound. For the best experience, we kindly recommend you listen with headphones. Hi listeners, I'm Michael David Axtell, and I have a story I want to tell you. A story of mischief and horror burrowed in the walls of a family home. So, gather round and listen. Close. Calling the place a fixer-upper would be a hell of an understatement. Built in the 1890s, Willow House was three floors of crumbling, beautiful ruins.

It was one of those homes old enough to actually have its own name, its own history, probably its own ghosts. But this isn't a ghost story. If I stuck to the plan of working on my own, it would take me months, maybe a year, to put the house in any kind of working condition. It was perfect. Madison loved Willow House from the start. Can I have a room that's high up, Dad?

You can have a room at the tippity-top of the tower, if that's your heart's desire, Maddie. Willow House stood on a 15-acre parcel, solidly in the middle of the sticks. The nearest neighbor was a quarter mile away. The building had a wraparound porch, nine bedrooms, and a gothic vibe, only partially undercut by all of the rotting wood and peeling paint. Look at the chimneys, Dad. There's a tower. It's like a castle. Maybe the corpse of a castle, I thought. I didn't say that, though.

I just smiled and agreed with my daughter and basked in this rare display of unreserved joy. It was the first time in six months I'd seen her smile so much. Ever since the funeral, Maddie walked around with hooded eyes, hunched a little in her own shadow. It was nice to see her step into the sun, if only for a few minutes. Maddie squealed and ran up the porch. I winced at the way some of the steps creaked. I'd probably need to tear out the stringers and boards and start fresh. That was fine. Good, even. I was glad for any distraction in such a bad year, and Willow House was promising to be an absolute attention sink. I opened the heavy double door using an ancient brass key the realtor left.

The foyer smelled like dust and oak. That first room was massive and empty, half covered in old canvas drop cloths. Welcome to our new home, Maddie. We spent the rest of the afternoon taking a tour of the house. Maddie picked and then re-picked her bedroom three or four times. All of the chaos wore her little five-year-old bones out, though, so eventually we just pulled out the air mattresses and settled into the gigantic living room for the night. It was chilly in the house, a November draft stalking the halls.

I didn't want to risk lighting any of the fireplaces until I had a chance to clean them out, so we huddled together under a space heater. Maddie's face stuck out of her blankets like a mouse peeking from its hole. She yawned, big brown eyes fighting heroically to stay open. Will you read me a story? I reached over to one of the few suitcases we'd brought in. Maddie never wanted to go anywhere without a few books on hand for emergencies. Are we feeling suzical tonight? Or maybe some doll? Could you read me one of your stories?

Maddie's voice was soft, almost nervous. I sighed. I don't think I packed any of mine in your suitcase, honey. Maddie scrunched ever farther into her blankets. Don't you remember how they go? You wrote them. I might mess it up. It's okay, Daddy. I can tell you one of your stories if you forgot. Okay, sweetie. Tell me a story. We fell asleep that first night in our new house on air mattresses in the living room, while Maddie recited, word for word, one of the first children's stories I ever published.

I'd written it the week after she was born, back when things seemed so clear and good for our family. Those first few days at Willow House were some of the best we'd had all year. Every morning, Maddie and I woke up at dawn, then got to work. Initially, that was unpacking and setting up the house to be more or less functional. Maddie ended up taking the tiny bedroom near the attic as her main space, though Willow was so sprawling she could sleep in a different room each night of the week and still have a couple left over. Once we were settled, renovations began. I was committed to taking on as much of the labor as I could on my own.

I was a DIY weekend warrior back when Chloe and I were living in our first place, so the feel of tools and new wood and old paint, the smell of sawdust, the taste of also sawdust when you forget to wear a mask while sanding, all of that was comfortable, familiar. I quickly got in over my head. Maddie laughed when I accidentally short-circuited the house trying to rewire a chandelier. She was my assistant, then eventually my supervisor and official tool holder. We both agreed to stick to carpentry and plumbing. We could call in an expert for the electrical work.

Then I flooded the basement while fiddling with the hot water heater so plumbing was taken off the table. The two of us were left as Matt and Maddie, master carpenters. I tried to sell her on Matt and daughter, but she countered with Maddie and father, so we met in the middle. Five-year-olds are something else. Everywhere we went in the house, Maddie lugged around a small red toolbox I'd given her. It was the old-fashioned kind, tin with an open lid and wooden handle. Maddie filled it with every tool an assistant carpenter could ever need.

Tape measure, level, square, fruit snacks, and about a dozen pencils. On day six of renovations, I was pulling out some drywall from the dining room when I noticed Maddie wasn't with me. I felt a cold wash of panic just for a moment, then I reminded myself she was probably in another room. After a few seconds listening, I heard the low hum of voices drifting from nearby. I guessed the sound was coming from the living room, so I headed in that direction, only to freeze after three steps. Voices. Plural. I couldn't have heard that. Maddie was the only person in the house. I stopped to listen again.

It really did sound like two distinct voices in a conversation. Hey, honey, where'd you go? The voices stopped suddenly. I walked into the living room to find Maddie sitting alone on the floor next to the fireplace. She smiled as I came in, but it was her extra-wide, I-got-a-secret smile that made me strangely anxious. Hey, Mad Maddy, what you up to in here? Just drawing.

Tired of being my assistant? Oh, no, I can help. Good, good, lots to do. Maddy, were you just talking to someone in here? My daughter was silent, her head tilted like she was listening to something. Maddy, were you just talking to someone in here? My daughter was silent. Her head tilted like she was listening to something. Eventually, she smiled.

I'm just talking to my imaginary... Maddy stopped again, listening. Sorry, my imaginary friend. Oh, friends. Uh-huh. You want to get back to work? Sure. She beamed, practically skipping back towards the kitchen. I started to follow and then glanced back at the fireplace.

When I walked over to examine it, the first thing I noticed was an unusual absence of dust. Everything else in the house showed decades of neglect, but the area around the mantle was fresh, pushing pristine. I made a mental note to investigate the chimney more when I had some free time. When we weren't working on the house, Maddie and I liked to take long walks along the property. Our yard was large, a dozen acres complete with a duck pond. The edge of the land brushed against the tree line of a neighboring forest.

It was a little jarring how wild the woods looked compared to our little slice of civilization. I made sure Maddie knew not to ever go into the trees without me. The waves of pine and oak and black walnut seemed deep enough to drown in. Luckily, Maddie was content to play in the field next to the house, skipping rocks across the pond and climbing a few of the more cultivated trees that stood on the property. I loved everything about the space. The isolation, the immersion in nature.

We were so beautifully, perfectly alone. Just me and Maddie. There were times where we had to return to society, sadly. We made weekly grocery and supply runs into the nearest town, a sleepy place called Albany. One rainy afternoon in October, Maddie and I were in the hardware store picking up an order and just browsing for the fun of it. I looked over when I heard the bell above the door chime. Walking in was the oldest woman I've ever seen, bent over a cane, white hair wrapped in a headscarf. A sheepish giant of a man came in after, gingerly holding out a hand to support the woman, which she ignored. When the old lady saw me, she began to hobble over.

You're the one who bought Willow House. I've been meaning to talk to you. Maddie chose that moment to pop around the corner. She was holding a level taller than herself. Daddy, I think we need this tool. Oh, hello ma'am. My name is Maddie and I'm five years old. The old lady looked aggressive as she approached me, but as soon as my daughter started talking, the stranger relaxed. She even smiled, her wrinkles moving like spiderwebs in a breeze. Hello, Maddie. It's nice to meet you. I'm Louise.

Hi. Oh, this is my dad. His name is Matt, in case he didn't tell you already. I didn't get the chance, sweetie. Can we help you with something, Louise? The woman didn't respond. Her companion, I guessed son, shifted uncomfortably behind her. You need to leave Willow House. You and your daughter are in danger. I can't believe those crooks sold it to a family with a child.

They know better. They know better. I don't understand. The house is run down, but it's safe. Louise bent close over her cane, leaning in like she was worried someone would eavesdrop. You won't see them. They move too fast, but you might hear them if you listen closely or catch a glimpse of them in the moonlight. They're clever but simple. You might trick them or trap them, but you'll never get them all. I don't think they like to stray far from Willow House. You should be safe if you leave. Now! They'll want your daughter.

The old woman turned to leave. I tried to respond, but my mind was stalling. But just as Louise reached the door, I got myself in gear and went to follow. A hand the size of a frisbee stopped me. It was the old woman's companion. The man must have been at least 6'7 or 6'8 and stood like a solid pillar of flannel and denim. Mom gets worked up some days. Please forgive her. She doesn't always think straight.

She just insisted on coming in when she saw your truck out front. I didn't know what it was about. The big guy looked over his shoulder to the woman behind the cash register. Mary, go ahead and put their order on my tab, okay? Sorry, again. The man followed his mother out. Is there something wrong with the house? I don't think so. I think that old woman is just a little... creative. I decided to shrug it off, but still took advantage of the big guy's offer. We loaded up on nails, paintbrushes, and plastic sheeting, then brought it all to the counter.

Will that be all for you today? Uh, yeah, that's all. Sorry if Louise unsettled you any. She's been the town eccentric since I was a little girl. Do you know why she would think Willow House is dangerous? I wouldn't worry too much. Willow House just has a nasty history. Any house that old is going to have a few stains, though.

Once you have it all fixed up and lived in, people realize the stories are silly. I mean, most of us already do. What kind of stories? Uh... Hey, kiddo. Why don't you check out the gumball machine by the door? Okay. So? It's just a story parents around here use to scare their kids into behaving. There's supposed to be some kind of monster that lives inside the walls of Willow House.

A starving or sick thing that eats children when they're bad. Some folks around here take it more seriously than others, but it's just a fairy tale. I'll make sure to check the walls carefully, just in case. Hey, Maddie, let's hit the road. Hey, did you get me gum? I gave you enough change for two pieces. Maddie giggled and ran out of the road. Hey, did you get me gum? I gave you enough change for two pieces. Maddie giggled and ran out of the store.

It started to rain on our truck ride back to the house. The day was cold for October, so the rain slowly turned to slush, and then snow as we drove. Maddie kept playing with her new level, watching the bubble float in its green tube as she turned the object back and forth. We ran inside from the truck as the snow came down harder once we were back at the house. Maddie insisted on helping me unload, despite the weather. There's a monster in the walls of Willow House. The thought kept banging around while I was getting lunch and hot chocolate ready for us. The grounds surrounding Willow House were turning white with wet snow born to stick to grass. Tree limbs drooped under the weight of the powder. It was a fine afternoon, and I knew Maddie would want to roll a snowman before dinner.

I walked out of the kitchen with a bowl of tomato soup in one hand and a grilled cheese on a plate in another. You'll have to pour your own hot chocolate, Mads. I only have two. Maddie was standing on her tiptoes in front of an open window in the living room. Her arms were on the frame. It looked like she was only a moment from climbing out. Kiddo, what are you doing? It's freezing outside.

I wanted to go play. We'll play later. Eat now. Eat. Then snow. Then movies. I'll just go ahead and get that hot cocoa for you then, your majesty. With marshmallows!

She yelled back, mouth full of food. Of course, your majesty. And some for my friends! What friends? Maddy sat looking back into the living room, head tilted. Never mind, Daddy. We had a good snow day. It was cozy inside the house.

I was ready to sweep out the fireplace so we could get a nice blaze going, but Maddie said she was worried we'd roast any mice hiding in the chimney, so she insisted we stick to the space heater. An hour before sunset, we headed out to make a snowman. That excursion devolved into a snowball fight that ran across the entire property. Maddie was ruthless. I was swiftly defeated. The battle ended near the duck pond. It had frozen solid over the past week, a rough circle of water about 30 feet across. Maddie was looking over the pond in her bright red parka with the fuzzy hood. Can we go ice skating?

I stood up and brushed the snow from her last assault out of my hair. I doubt the ice is thick enough for anything other than to look pretty. The sun was going down into the forest, and the clouds above us were already that orange-purple-pastel smudge that comes just before the dark. I promised Maddie that we could come out in the morning with a drill and measuring tape

to see if the ice was at least four inches thick and safe to skate on. We returned home, stomping a trail through the powder, then had another round of hot chocolate with dinner. Maddie rearranged our blanket fort, Fort Snuggy by the Sea, before we watched Wizard of Oz. It was still snowing when we went to bed, each with a small space heater for our rooms. The day was simple and sweet and will stay with me forever. I woke up that night to the sound of something heavy falling downstairs. Then Maddie started screaming. I ran down the pitch-black hall so quickly I nearly fell down the stairs. It took a lingering, awful moment to find the light switch. When I did, I saw Maddie curled up on the floor of the living room in front of the fireplace.

She was shrieking and holding her left leg. Maddie, Maddie, what's wrong? My leg. My leg, Daddy, it hurts. I shifted Maddie's pajama leg and saw there wasn't any severe damage, but the leg was already swelling at the ankle. What happened, honey? My friends tried to help me fly, but I got scared. What? What friends? What do you mean fly? Maddie's crying trickled off with a few final sobs. She got a faraway look in her eye and that head tilt again. But I want to tell him. Tell me what? Maddie, what's wrong? Never mind, Daddy. I fell down the stairs, that's all. No amounts of coaxing could get Maddie to elaborate. I picked her up and took her out to the truck, then drove us into town, windshield wipers sweeping away the light snowfall.

Maddie was lucky that her injury ended up just being a twisted ankle. She told the doctor a different story than what she told me in the house. In the latest version, she was climbing the chimney trying to see her friends. She could mean mice, the doctor told me as we were leaving. Or some other animal. I tell you, once a kid watches Cinderella, you'll have to be on the lookout for the rest of your life. And every time you blink, they'll be out there trying to tame a fox. The snow had stopped by the time we left the hospital.

Maddie insisted on trying to use the crutches they gave her to get to the truck, but gave up after six steps, reaching her arms up for a carry. She was asleep in my arms before I even opened her door. The drive back was quiet and warm and clear. After putting Maddie to bed, her not so much as stirring the entire time I carried her up the stairs, I decided to investigate the chimney. The brick was cracked and worn at the base, but looked solid. I poked my head into the opening, which was wide enough for me to lean in and shine a flashlight up. Hundreds of tiny eyes reflected the light back. I cursed and scrambled out of the fireplace so fast I almost dislocated

my shoulder on the brick. There was a rush of air from the chimney. Dust rolled out like morning fog. I stood in the middle of the living room for several minutes, my light fixed on the opening of the fireplace. Nothing but the dust came out. Crap, crap, crap, crap. Please don't be bats. I crept forward and leaned into the chimney again. When I flashed my light upwards, there were no eyes, no reflection. What I did see were scratches all over the brick, deep pits and something fibrous, hair or feathers or both. There was certainly something infesting our chimney. I went to the garage for some rat traps, placed and baited a few inside the grate, then blocked off the opening with tarp

and storage containers that would be far too heavy for Maddie to move. One more check-in on the girl, she was sleeping like a tranquilized rock, then I went back to bed. I remember glancing at the clock as my head hit the pillow. It was just after 3 a.m. It felt like my eyes were hardly closed before screaming woke me up for the second time that night. Not even screaming, but shrieking, panicked animal sounds that ripped me out of bed and sent me sprinting for Maddie's room. She was awake, but wasn't the source of the noise.

Maddie looked how I probably looked, She was awake, but wasn't the source of the noise. Maddie looked how I probably looked. Wide eyes, confused, startled, a bit terrified. Once I saw that Maddie wasn't in danger, a logical slice of my brain took over, and I listened carefully. The screams were coming from downstairs. The wailing ended when I reached the living room, but I heard enough to guess at a location.

I moved the storage containers and tarps around the fireplace. Something must have set off one of my traps. When I was upstairs, the screams seemed so human, but if the thing was in the chimney, I was guessing I'd find a mouse or bat, or maybe an unlucky raccoon. Instead, I found a bird. Almost a bird. The creature caught in my mousetrap was the size and shape of a sparrow. It was covered in thin blue feathers, but also a soft, fine hair. In addition to its wings, the thing had what looked an awful lot like tiny arms and legs. What made me drop the trap, though, was its face.

There was no mistaking it. The face was human. Miniature features were coiled up in absolute agony. The trap had snapped the creature's back and distended its stomach. I was pretty confident it was dead, but I couldn't bring myself to pick it up to check. What's wrong, Daddy? Uh, just... it's just a rat, honey. Go back to bed. Poor little rat. Is it going to be okay?

Yep. I'm about to release it outside as soon as it calms down. Go ahead to sleep now. I hate lying to Maddie, but I wasn't equipped to explain what I saw in the trap. A little part of me wondered if I might be dreaming. After a few moments of standing in front of the fireplace in a daze, I replaced the tarp and moved the storage boxes back to block the opening. I'd deal with the situation after a good night's sleep. I had my first foot on the stairs when there was a thump against the window. Another followed.

I walked over and moved the curtain to see hundreds of tiny bright lights hovering over my yard. They all burned blue, and every now and then one would zip around, leaving a cobalt wake hanging in the air. It was like a sky full of stars had crashed into my lawn. I stared until they all began to move together. The patterns were erratic, too quick to follow, dust in a hurricane. But I'd grown up in the country, and I recognized a swarm when I saw one. There were more thuds against the window as I closed the curtain. I hurried upstairs, then dragged a chair from my office into the hallway outside of Maddie's door.

I was still trying to convince myself that I was dreaming, but just in case, I'd sleep outside of her room that night. Even though I was dog-tired, I still woke up early. Dawn light was spilling in from the windows, soft and gray and filtered through curtain cloth. I stretched in my chair, feeling my vertebrae give a satisfying pop, one by one. The house was silent. I listened at Maddie's door for a few heartbeats before inching it open to check on her. Two terrible observations stood out one after another. The first was that Maddie's bed was empty. The second was that her window was open. The wind had carried snow in from the roof or nearby trees.

Fresh powder covered the windowsill and the floor underneath. I almost tripped on it in my rush to look down. The image that kept flashing in my brain in the six or so steps it took me to reach the window was a tiny, fragile body two stories below, surrounded by red and white. However, when I leaned out, there was no sign of Maddie, other than tracks in the snow. None of it made sense. She couldn't have climbed down. The wall was sheer, without even a nearby drainpipe to grab. And led away from the house towards the forest,

shallow prints that, when I looked close, had the faintest imprint of individual toes. Maddie was barefoot. I ran as quickly as I could through the drifts. Here and there Maddie's tracks disappeared, leaving flat snow. They'd pick up again after a few yards. It was like she was jumping a great distance, or flying. The trail led over a hill and towards the frozen duck pond. Only it wasn't completely frozen anymore. I saw that the ice was cracked near the shore, right where Maddie's tracks stopped. I think I yelled, called her name, probably screamed. But I didn't really believe it until I was at the edge of the pond and I saw her there. Face down in the water.

Her pajamas dusted with snow. I pulled her out. She was so blue. I was definitely screaming then, and crying. No coherent thoughts in my head. I performed CPR and rescue breathing. I had that much as muscle memory from a training years before. When Maddie didn't respond after several minutes, I scooped her up and ran for the house. All I can remember is thinking that I had to get her warm. If she could get warm, she'd be okay. As I reached down to grab her, though, one other memory stands out from the fog. Thousands of blue lights shining in the forest across from the pond, like spiteful ornaments among the trees. I remember feeling their hate, a cold crystal thing.

Then I was running with Maddie. It took the paramedics 40 minutes to reach the house. Bad roads from the storm, I guess. Snow and fallen trees and all of that. Even if they'd gotten there the second I called 911, it wouldn't have mattered. I buried my daughter on the property under her favorite tree. I put her toolbox in with her, the little red one with the wooden handle. It still had all of the tools, and I added some Polaroids I'd taken of us.

All three of us. Me, Maddie, and her mom. I took them back before. I'm not sure why I put the pictures in there. Something about Maddie being alone there under the tree scared me. I was afraid she'd be lonely. I still live in Willow House, though I've given up on the remodel. Some evenings, I will catch a glimpse of darting sapphire lights at the tree line. I don't think I'm welcome here. They want me out. They can go to hell. As long as Maddie is here, I'll be here. Remember when I said this wasn't a ghost story? That's true.

But I have to hope that it could be. Full Body Chills is an AudioChuck production. This episode was written by Travis Brown and read by Michael David Axtell. This story was modified slightly for audio retelling, but you can find the original in full on our website. So, what do you think, Chuck? Do you approve?