Lighthouse Horror Podcast - I Think Something Is STALKING Us From Inside Our House | Scary Stories

Episode Date: September 8, 2023

I knew she had a secret...   Story from MrFrontenac Make sure to check out more of their work at u/MrFrontenac                             Original Post: He said his name was Sam : r/nosleep                                   Original YouTube link: I Think Something Is STALKING Us From Inside Our House          For more stories like this one, check out my YouTube channel: Lighthouse Horror | YouTube  Patreon: Lighthouse Horror | Patreon Merch: lighthousehorror.com  Sound Effects: Freesound Zapsplat  Music: Lucas King - YouTube Myuu - YouTube  Incompetech Darren Curtis Music - YouTube  Thank you for listening to this scary story! If you enjoyed this new creepypasta story, please check out some of my other horror stories. We'll be uploading new episodes every day, featuring ghost stories, haunted encounters, mysteries, true stories, creepypasta, and anything supernatural and paranormal. Don't miss out on the thrill and suspense that await you in each episode!

My wife and I had been living in our ancient Victorian house for nearly five years before we found it. Something stank in the subfloor in the upstairs den, and I spent one quiet Saturday in September, prying up the plywood in hopes of discovering a dead rodent. The room was on our renovation list anyway. The maple flooring was beyond restoration, having taken some water damage when the house was abandoned in the 80s. The floorboards were stained black, like long, rotted teeth, and the wood was spongy the farther I sank the pry bar in.

I recoiled as the smell worsened. Caroline, I sat out the door. Can you grab me an N95, please? I picked up the DeWalt and deftly unscrewed the first section of subfloor. The subfloor had been replaced not too long ago, I noticed. The house was built in the late 1800s, but the plywoods. But the plywood boards still had a fresh, blonde color to them. I heard Caroline clapping up the stairs as I wrestled the wood from the floor.

The patchwood of plywood was all I could see, while I held the giant sheet in front of me. I set it down gently just as Caroline came in the doorway. She extended a hand with a mask, pinched in her fingers. Thank you, love. I took it from her, but noticed she was frowning past me at the floor. I turned around. There was a loud knock from under another part of the subfloor, but for all I knew it was the wood settling after I'd had at it with a pry bar. Besides, I was instantly distracted.

I followed Caroline's gaze, and there it was. Set in the subfloor under the plywood I'd moved was an old black safe with silver stenciling. Oh, shit! I shuffled on my knees over to it. Oh my God, I have always been I always wanted this to happen," I said, swiping the dust from it. Caroline crouched next to me and smiled. Really? You've always wanted to haul a heavy safe down our steep staircase? You're so sweet." I rolled my eyes. Come on, look how old this thing is. I'm not saying it's filled with gold, but it could hold history.

It's empty. She said plainly. How do you know? Because they always are. People don't forget about safes when they move. They just don't want to move them. Don't listen to her. I spoke to the safe. You are filled with treasures. Hmm. Mundane documents, if anything. Twenty bucks there's something interesting inside. Twenty bucks says there's nothing at all. She replied. Caroline extended her hand, and we shook on it. Easiest 20 bucks I've ever made.

I said, and patted the side of the safe. While the thing wasn't much bigger than a microwave, it weighed at least a hundred unwieldy pounds. Caroline's first instinct of considering the difficulty of moving this thing was spot on. Getting it down the stairs alone would be downright dangerous. I thought I'd try to crack it open where it sat. That way, if there was something of value inside, I could secure its contents before pushing the safe itself out the window into the weed bed below. I really didn't want to carry that thing down the stairs. Finding the safe was reason enough to stop my weekend labor, and I decided to call it a day. Unfortunately, my safe-cracking plan fell apart after an hour of YouTube. The best course of action for

an amateur like me was to cut the back out with a saw, but the empty den was a tinderbox. One hot bit of metal sinking into the subfloor could burn the whole house down. When Caroline was busy watching TV that night. I opened the den window, hoped there was no priceless china inside, and heaved the thing out. It thumped into dirt. I leaned out the window to look after it. A part of me was hoping it would be hanging open and that the fall would break the old thing. But it sat still like a meteorite in the earth. I walked downstairs. Caroline looked over her shoulder from the couch. Want a hand with that thing? Nope, no need. I already brought it down. I already down. She paused her show. Really? Yeah. Didn't you hear me huffing and puffing 20 minutes ago?

I rubbed my hands together. You threw it out the window, didn't you? I shrugged with a smile. It didn't hit the house on the way down? Of course not, honey. I plotted its position trajectory. Uh-huh. She stood up and followed me out the back door. We stood over the safe like proud parents. Perhaps the pride was mine more than hers." "'When are you going to try to open it?' Caroline asked. "'I'll pick up a metal blade for the circular saw tomorrow. We're having my parents over for dinner tomorrow.'

She replied, "'It's not going to take all day. Few hours tops.' "'Tops,' she repeated skeptically, and smiled at me knowing how I got obsessed with projects. "'Hey, you can run the saw.' I know I can run the saw, Michael. It's my saw." Right. She smiled that started heading back inside. She paused in the doorway and leaned out while I still stared at the safe. Beers and sex. She said, I squinted at her silhouette in the dark

doorframe, the way a lover squints at the other, wondering how they ever got so lucky. You know, I'm still a little full. Sex than beers. I said, My man's a genius, she said, as I stepped inside and she took my hand, and I locked the door behind us. Later that night, I snatched a sweating beer off the nightstand. I walked into the warm hall and looked over my shoulder. Caroline hadn't as much as stirred. She was sprawled on top of the sheets, where it was still hopelessly too hot to sleep. What do you call warm fall? I wondered. Indian summer. I whispered to myself and brought the beer to my lips.

Every fall is hot now. It needs a new name. Normal. I walked into the little upstairs den. Five years in the electrical in here still didn't work. It was embarrassing, sure, but damn, it's mad how fast five years can pass. I squinted, trying to remember what the original quote had been to fix the lights, but a scratching sound took my attention away. I never did find that rodent. But wasn't it supposed to be dead?

With a subfloor and the windows opened, the smell had seemed to go away. Or perhaps I just got used to it. The scratching continued, harder and heavier. The subfloor was strangely walled off in sections, so I couldn't poke a flashlight into where I'd found the safe and see in every direction. I wasn't about to get drilling with Caroline trying to sleep, so I stood and crossed my arms. Something caught my eye on the floor from where the safe had been sitting. I went back to the bedroom and came back with my phone's flashlight shining. There were tiny words carved in the dusty floor. Short sentences neatly teared above one another.

Some of the letters overlapped, like it had been written in the dark. Six foot one. Burns on right arm. Brown eyes. No hair. My age. He said his name was Sam. Sarah Child.

Nineteen. I sat down where the floor opened. My feet further below me near the carving. Huh. Sarah Child. I said the name aloud. Of all the strange jokes you could play on the homeowners and remodellers of the future, this was up there. I swallowed my spit nervously as I opened my phone and typed the name into Google.

Thirty years later, the disappearance case of Sarah Child is just as cold as it was the day she went missing. I read on. Sarah Child went missing in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, at 16 years old. She simply never showed up after walking back from our recital rehearsal late one winter night. That was it. No leads, no sightings, no nothing. Just a town gone mad with imagination. We were in Helerton, just south of Bethlehem. I don't remember ever hearing of the case, but then again I was born in 86, and there were plenty of disappearances in the populated Lehigh Valley. I clicked my phone off and shook my head.

This was either a poor taste prank by some kids enthralled with the disappearance at the time, or I shivered. At some point a young girl was entombed in our subfloor. And why, I wondered. Why did that name sound so familiar? I sat in the silence for a long time. I heard the air conditioner start to whirl from our bedroom window. For the next several minutes, I'd flinch when the house creaked as it cooled.

I thought logically, and soon felt relief. Whoever had set that safe down there had no doubt seen the message. The police had possibly already been informed. It was probably a prank. Definitely a prank. At least that's what I told myself to sleep that night. The next morning when I got back from the hardware store, Caroline was still asleep. I was aware then of the thought that whoever placed the safe there had also taken Sarah Child,

perhaps opening it, was tampering with evidence. But I felt I'd look like a fool calling the police on what I'd convinced myself into thinking was some kind of game. If there was something fishy in the safe, then I'd call him, I decided. Otherwise, there's no need to waste anybody's time. I rolled the safe to the middle of the backyard, fitted the new blade in the circular saw, and I got to work. Not long after I started, Caroline came running outside. What are you doing? I stood confused and took out my earplugs. I gestured like an idiot at the safe.

Open in it. Michael, it's seven in the morning. We have neighbors. I looked around as if they might be watching me angrily. Waiting another hour or more to get to work would drive me nuts, but I relented and went inside to eat. I knew you'd be obsessed, but what's up? You're no early riser. I debated not telling her about the writings. I don't know why. Perhaps it would become realer if I told her.

Perhaps I was afraid she'd want to call the police before I got to open the safe myself. In the subfloor, I said slowly. There's some kind of prank written there. What? It's where the safe was. Just go look. I pointed towards the stairs and she frowned at me as she turned and went up them.

I was tapping my coffee mug anxiously when my heart stopped. Oh my God! I heard Caroline say in horror. Oh my God! I started towards the stairs. I ran up them. She was bent over the writing with her hand over her mouth. What is it?

Sarah. She started shaking her head. She was crying now. This can't be Sarah Child. Do you know who that is? I googled it. My mom's cousin, she cried. That's the one that went missing when I was just a girl.

It's some prank, though, don't you think? She said nothing for a moment. This description. What about it? In high school? She trailed off, but it's all I needed to know. While my memory of her mentioning Sarah Child was hazy, I knew what she was thinking. When Caroline was younger, she had a stalker.

He'd gone as far as pretending to be her father and tried to pull her out of elementary school. His behavior wasn't consistent. She said he'd vanish for a year at a time, before appearing outside her bedroom. window. Sometime around her sophomore year of high school, he vanished altogether. Does it sound like him? I asked. My heart pounding. What did he say his name was? He never did, Caroline said, looking around the room and shaking her head. Maybe I'm just remembering wrong. Do we call someone? I mean, what if the people that used to live here have something to do with Sarah going missing.

This place was abandoned till the 90s. The subfloor was probably exposed then. And look, it's not that crazy that some drunk teens in a creepy house wrote a message knowing it be found one day. I want to call someone. You want to call the police. I don't know. I just hate to think that she...

She suddenly stood and backed towards me. That that poor girl was trapped in there. there?" All right, look. First thing Monday we'll call someone." She nodded and suddenly frowned. The safe. Yeah? I said anxiously.

What if there's something in there? Well? I smiled trying to cheer her up. Then you'd owe me twenty bucks. We took turns sawing. Caroline was much more enthusiastic than me now. I'd stopped the saw as flakes of molten metal stung my arms and face, but she'd saw on unfazed. After a while, we got the metal back peeled away, but there was still a layer of concrete

we'd have to break through. I had the small handheld sledge on standby, and Caroline took it from me without a word and started swinging. It crumbled away, and she tossed the chunks of cement into the yard. Anything? I said as she peered inside. She stuck her hand in and pulled out a fistful of what looked like paper. What is it? I said, walking over cautiously.

Pictures, she said, and then I saw her eyes widen in fear. Michael, she fanned some of the photos towards me. And I looked, Michael, they're pictures of me. I grabbed some from her. As she took more from the safe, they were photographs of Caroline as a baby, a toddler. We sorted through all of them. The newest photos seemed to be from around the time she turned ten. There were none where she was older.

They were family photos, taken by her parents, it seemed. Okay, I said. And you never saw this safe before. Caroline ignored me as she dug her phone out of her pocket. Caroline? She held up a finger to quiet me as she put her phone to her ear. Hey, Mom. She started to pace anxiously around the yard.

Actually, I'm not sure we should do dinner. James has a cold. No, I feel fine, Mom. She was quiet for a moment while her mom spoke. I'm actually calling because I've been looking for some photographs. physical photos of me when I was younger. Caroline put the call on speakerphone. Oh. Caroline's mom sighed.

How come? Well, Michael was showing me some pictures of him when he was a kid, and it just got me thinking. This is a bit embarrassing, Carrie, but your father and I, we misplaced your picture books. We thought they were in the garage, but when we went to find them and have them digitized, Well, they weren't there. Caroline and I stared at each other. I clicked my thumbnail nervously in my teeth. When was this?

Several years ago now. Mom, when? I can't say exactly. You try living this long. I'm sorry, we lost them. Okay, Mom, it's okay. Caroline sighed. Tell her we found them.

I mouthed, but Carolin. Caroline glared and disabled speaker as she put the phone back to her ear. It's really okay, she said. I'd only look at them once in a decade anyway. Yeah, yeah, I love you too. Sure, we'll try for next Sunday. Love you. Bye.

Caroline brought the phone down. Why didn't you tell her we found him? Why didn't you ask about the safe? Because she'd freak the hell out. And she doesn't know of the safe because it's been sitting in the floorboards for years. She snatched up all the photos and started walking inside. Caroline, I called after her. She went upstairs and came back down a minute later, dressed in jeans in a thick hoodie,

despite the fact that it was already nearly 80 degrees. I'm going for a drive. That was all she said, and I felt like I couldn't ask where. She went out the door and started her car. By the time she got home, it was dusk. I'd spent the day sitting at the kitchen table drinking beers to calm myself. When Caroline came in, she looked at my empties and snatched a bottle of bourbon from the butcher block.

I don't know how you haven't moved to something harder. Are you okay? I stood and we hugged. Her clothes were torn and her cheeks had thin scratches. What aren't you telling me? She started filling a coffee mug with whiskey. was half full, she took a sip and pulled a photo out of the pocket of her hoodie. I took it from her, and she grimaced and brought the mug to her lips again.

What's this? I said quietly, but I knew what it was. It was a picture of Caroline, taken maybe a year or two ago based on her shorter hair. She was laughing in the orange glow of a window, the kitchen window. The picture was taken at night, from the backyard. On the back of the photo, there was a simple smiley face, with a long, wide smile and sideways rectangles for eyes. That's his signature.

What? The man who used to follow me when I was a girl, the smiley face, he signed this last note me like that?" Was this in the safe?" She nodded. I looked at the kitchen window. The same one Caroline had been photographed from and raced over to draw the blinds. That's not going to do much good.

What? I paused. What do you mean? This has to be him, right? He's back. Yeah, there's a problem with that. She replied. The man.

that followed me when I was just still a girl. There was a thump upstairs, and we both paused and looked towards the stairs. I killed him thirteen years ago. I could hear the tobacco burn as she drew on her cigarette, and I just checked where I buried him. And wouldn't you know it? Her eyes searched the ceiling. He's not there anymore.

I didn't have time to process what Caroline just told me. She was no murderer. Whatever she'd done, I knew it was in self-defense. Upstairs there was another knock. We both waited for another, but it was silent then. I pushed my drink away from me and grabbed the longest kitchen knife hanging on the magnet strip above the counter. Are you sure he was dead?

A hundred percent. Just looking at his bed. body, there was no chance. What do they call that?" Caroline took another knife from the magnet strip, and we started towards the stairs. Injuries and compatible with life? Yeah, she said. That. We walked cautiously up the stairs, at times stopping when the wood squeaked. I could see Caroline's pulse in her neck. My own heart hammered so hard that every stair left me more light-headed

It. We searched all the rooms together in silence, but there was nothing. No one. We stopped and convened in the den, both staring at the subfloor. I stood guard with a knife and phone flashlight, while Caroline picked up the drill and started unscrewing the rest of the boards. All the sheets that made up the subfloor were six foot by three foot, pieces of plywood. They looked like lids, I realized.

Lids to little coffins. She lifted a piece out and leaned it against the wall, and we both exhaled in relief, as there was nothing out of the ordinary in the sub-floor. No dark stains, no creepy writings, no second safe, just dust and rodent droppings. She unscrewed section after section, setting them against the wall, and it was the same thing over and over. They revealed the standard innards of a house. In one of the sections, there was a heavier concentration of tiny turds and the bloated body of a mouse. Next to it there was a hole the size of a fist. I figured the mouse must have friends. A bit of a weight lifted

from our shoulders. Is that all we heard? I said. Mice? Caroline didn't respond. We were both standing about a foot under the original floor now, that all the plywood had been removed. Caroline set her hands on her hips and took deep breaths. She walked to where the sheets were leaned against the wall and flicked through them like giant dominoes. We weren't hearing things, I said.

Michael, that was too big to be a rodent. Michael! Caroline said louder. I turned to her, and her eyes were so wide in horror. I couldn't bring myself to look where she was. Shine the light, she said. As I did, she pivoted a piece of plywood on its edge to turn it out towards us. The underside of the subfloor sheet was covered in long, bloody scratches.

She let it fall against the wall and quickly pivoted another one. And another. They all had the same kind of scratches, and as if we weren't sure what caused such feverish and gruesome markings, an entire fingernail jutted out of one of them. How many boards? I looked at horror at the floor. How many little tombs in the subfloor? Nine.

Caroline let the board with the fingernail in it fall onto the scaffolding floor and started nearly running down the steps. I was at her heels. We need to call the police, I said. Caroline. She made for the kitchen and once there splashed another shot of whiskey into her mug. That's not going to help us right now. Like hell it won't, she said, and threw it back in one swallow.

She wiped her chin and looked at me. Don't you want to know? Know what? How I can. killed him. I was silent as she poured another drink. Of course. She kicked a chair out from under the table, and it spun out to me, a nearly perfect invitation to sit. I sat. He left me a letter one night, my sophomore ear. She pulled out a chair and sat across from me. He said he wanted to meet me. He'd never done that before. She tried.

trailed off and looked nervously at the stairs. And did you? He wanted to meet on some wooded street by Lehigh Mountain Park. He knew I had my learner's permit, and he told me to take my dad's truck. I snuck out that night and took the truck. She sighed and pushed the drink she'd poured away. I was driving slow, looking for him around two in the morning. He was where he said he'd be.

Standing eerily with his hood up. But when I saw him, when I saw him, I accelerated. I ran him over. She looked at me guiltily, but I said nothing. I was going forty maybe. He hardly had time to react. His head went under the wheels. I dragged him deep into the woods.

I mean deep. There was this old culvert at least a hundred yards in, surrounded by buckthorn. It took me a half hour to get his body through that brush. I stuffed him in the drainpipe. That was it. I didn't bury him, but he may as well have been. Could he have washed away? Caroline shook her head.

There wasn't even a gallee there anymore. It drained in nothing. Still does. I checked. Maybe his body was found. Do you know how often I search results for body. found in Lehigh Mountain Park? Did you today?

Of course. There's nothing. I leaned back and we were both silent with our thoughts for a minute. If anything, I think better of you, Caroline. You're not a cold-blooded killer. I want you to know that. I understand you never telling me. I understand why you did it.

And I love you all the same. I reached across the table and took her hand in mine. Thank you, Michael. But, I sighed. Don't you think we need to call the police? There could be DNA on the blood on those boards. We could find out who kidnapped Sarah. We...

Stop. We're not calling anyone. Why? Because I don't want to go to prison for the rest of my life. They're not going to find out. What possible evidence could there even be? Think about it. A truck that might have some DNA on it that is God knows where?

Nobody. There's no security camera footage from 13 years ago. You're safe, Caroline. The truck was scrapped. See? Let's call him. Now. I can't sleep in this house anymore.

Please, said Caroline. Can we please just call him in the morning? All right. I sighed. But don't judge me when I check under the bed tonight. We both called in from work, and the police were over by 9 a.m. It wasn't the circus we thought it would be. I'd pictured satellite news trucks and squadron of cops, but in all, only two cars came,

one a patrol cruiser, and the other an unmarked Ford Taurus of the detective. We explained what we found down to the fingernail, but the response was subdued. Well, we'll try and get some DNA. See if we get any missing persons matches, said the detective. We'll swap around for fingerprints if that's all right and look into the previous owners as well. Is there anything else you can tell us? Carolina and I looked at each other. I'd argued that we needed to tell them about the safe, but she'd refused.

We shook our hands. All right, well, if you think or find anything else, he smiled. Be sure to give us a call. After the police left, I went out to the backyard. If there were any useful fingerprints, I knew they'd likely be on the safe. I sighed and stared at the tree line. While we had neighbors on either side, behind our house was a couple dozen undeveloped acres of woods.

The land ran downhill, and after rains the water would run off were the woods flattened, ready to flood the foundations of any ambitious developer. The woods weren't good for much. They were too thick, wet and steep for hiking and were mostly frequented by local teenagers to have bonfires and drink beer. Someone could easily live in there, I thought. The tree line was right where it seemed the photo of Caroline had been taken. I walked to the garage when I was startled by a voice.

Hey, neighbor! I put my hand on my heart and smiled. Greg, I said, you scared me. Oh, I'm sorry, and I'm sorry for being a nosy neighbor, but I'm just wondering if everything's all right. I saw the police cars. Greg had earned his right to be nosy. A year ago, when I was backing out of my driveway, my brake stopped working.

After bleeding the fluid to no avail, I called the tow truck to take my car to the shop. Greg could come outside, curious when he saw the tow truck pull in. He called the mechanic a crook and shoot him away. After taking a look himself, he said my brake master cylinder wasn't delivering pressure. He and I got in his truck, bought a new cylinder, and had the brakes working perfectly in under an hour. Ever since then, I'll bring him a beer and shoot the shit when I see him working on the classic Corvette he keeps in his garage.

Oh, everything's fine. Caroline and I found some things that might relate to an old missing person's case. To be honest, it's probably just a prank some kids left. We call just to be safe. He stroked his beard, considering... What kind of things? You don't mind me asking. Well, writings of...

You see... He interrupted me. That fellow used to live here before you. He was an odd one. It was a woman that lived here when we bought it. I said, confused. No, I see why you think so. I believe she would have been on the deed, but it was a son of hers or something that lived in this place.

Here. He turned towards the street. Can I show you something? Sure. Actually, it might take me a minute to find it. Come over to my place with Caroline and say... He looked at his wife. Much.

Fifteen minutes. How's that work? Works fine. Great. Greg lived directly across the street from us, and when Caroline and I knocked, we heard him yell to come in from deeper in the house. We opened the door and took off our shoes. And the dining room.

He leaned back in a chair, so he was in view down the hallway, and waved. His place was orderly. It was clean, and there were pictures lining the wall of him. him with a woman and what we presume to be his children. But we'd never seen him with a wife, nor had he mentioned one. All the pictures of the woman were older, and I realized poor Greg was likely a widower. Hey, guys, sit down. I've just about got it here. He was sitting behind a Hewlett-Packard laptop, the size of a small poodle. I wanted to show this to you before, but I just didn't know how.

the computer around. A video player was open on his computer. It was footage from a doorbell camera that looked out directly towards our house. Now, I know this'll sound crazy, but this tape is from summer 2016, just when you two moved in. I've kept it all this time. We leaned forward. Why do you keep footage this old? asked Caroline. Greg said nothing and pointed at the computer as if her question was about to be answered. In one of the upper bedroom windows of our house, I noticed a man was standing inside at the sill. You see the man in the window there?

We nodded. Hit that double arrow thingy. Fast forward a bit. I hit fast forward, and while the daylight outside faded fast, fast, fast, the figure of the man at the window stayed still. Keep hitting it! I pressed it so it was at 16x speed. Hours passed. The man stayed at the window.

How long does this go on for? Greg said nothing. He only nodded down, suggesting the footage would again answer our questions for us. I set the fast forward to as fast as it would go on. An entire day passed on film, and then the next day at dawn a moving truck pulled in. Caroline and I stepped out, and the man in the window stepped back, disappearing into the house. What the hell? I know.

I know I should have showed you earlier. Greg sighed. I convinced myself he was a friend of yours or something. It seemed ridiculous. How do you bring that up? Howdy, neighbor, nice to meet you. Here's a pie. And by the way, check out what my doorbell camera picked up in your upstairs window. Caroline and I looked at each other. How did you notice this? I asked. The man in the window, how did you know he was there? I noticed him before I saw him on the camera. He was there plain as day.

Here. Greg took the laptop back and clicked a few times and turned it back around. You were fast forward and too quick, but I even tried to wave to him. Greg appeared on the footage. He stepped out to the street and waved to the man in the window. But the man didn't move. That didn't do much good, you see? Well, why was he just standing there?

asked. Greg suddenly looked uncomfortable, like there was something he didn't want to say. Well... He clicked his tongue against his teeth. It looks like he was waiting for you. The footage was from too far away, to tell if the figure in the window looked anything like Caroline's stalker. And Greg's description of the man he'd seen living there before wasn't very helpful either. The next few days I'd stare out the window towards the woods, wondering if someone else was looking back. It was late one night when we got the call. The

detective had called Caroline's cell. She put it on speaker, and we sat together at the kitchen table. Hey, I'm sorry to call you so late. It's okay. We're plenty awake. So, uh, we're still waiting for DNA results, and again, depending on the circle, circumstances, we might not be able to share anything with you. But the reason I'm calling, we did get results back for the fingerprints. The thing is, how many people live in your home? Have you had any guest stay for a long period of time recently? No, said Caroline.

Okay. Well, we've identified three prominent sets of prints in your home. We've identified those of you and your husband, but the third set." Caroline and I looked at each other. We can't find a match in the records, so I'm calling to ask. Do you have any idea who those fingerprints might belong to? We had no idea who those fingerprints might have belonged to. Caroline wanted to get a hotel for the night, and now I had to agree.

There was no way I'd be able to sleep. in that house another night without developing an alcohol dependency. Let's get a nice room in town," she said. We were both walking upstairs. I had a knife clenched in my fist. We checked all the rooms and even looked behind the shower curtain before we took out our suitcases and got to packing. It didn't take me long to pack, but Caroline was being thorough, making sure we wouldn't

have to come back any time soon for something she forgot. When I was done, I went into the den. I took one last look around with the flashlight. I was just about to leave when it caught my eye, where one of the sideways boards met the den wall that separated the room from our bedroom. There was the crescent scar of a saws-all in the wood. Just a slight half circle. Shoulder whiff. A door, I realized. A door in the side of the subfloor that some Someone could crawl through. I kicked the shape hard and quick with my heel.

It didn't budge. It seemed like the little trap door probably only opened out, not in. Caroline! I yelled over my shoulder, and she dropped something on the bath tile and ran to me. What? What is it? She stood in the doorway. Get the DeWalt.

I was stupid. I should have been more. cautious. I should have just burned the house down. But in that moment, I felt more angry than afraid. I wasn't going to let some freak or even some ghost terrorize us in our home. Caroline could hardly see the scar in the wood. She didn't think there was a door. I found an eye hook in the garage, and we drilled it into the trap door to give it a makeshift handle so we could pull it outwards. I bore out the wood door with a six-inch bit and fitted in the eye bolt. I set my hand on the cold stainless steel and angled it so it took hold. I looked at

Caroline and pulled. The piece fell from its place, and we both jumped back. Now the entrance was a black crescent. Now, I wasn't so angry anymore. Cold fear crept back down my spine. Were those eyes looking out from that darkness? We need to leave and call the police, said Caroline. Okay. Okay, finish up packing. I can call the detective back.

She raised her brow at me and looked at the hole. As she started walking back to the bathroom, I turned back to the passageway. I'd just take a quick look. I took in, I told myself. There was no way I'd ever crawl through that hellish hole, but I'd just shine the light in quick. I had to know what was under our bedroom floor all this time. I couldn't just turn around and walk out. My heart fluttered in my chest. I turned my phone flashlight back on and squatted so I was level with the entrance.

I brought the light up so I could see in. I've never felt such a jolted. of fear. Illuminated in the white light just past the entrance, was a bearded face, pale and smiling back at me. I fell backwards screaming. I heard Caroline call out my name, but someone was on top of me. They brought down something heavy on my head, and the world went black. I woke up nauseous to the muffled sound of voices.

I was in pitch black with my hands bound at my belly. You have no idea. I heard a deep baritone begin above me. How long I've been waiting for this. How many times I wanted to reveal myself and tell you. Go to hell! I heard Caroline scream. Sometimes when I watched you make love, I wanted to burst out from the floor just to say hello.

Oh, what your expressions would be. If you killed him, I swear to God. Hey, hey, I'm here, I said. There was a ceiling a few inches from my forehead and I banged my head against it. Michael? Caroline said back. Here, I'm here. I was wedged in between something rough and dusty, and I realized I was in the subfloor beneath our bedroom.

See, he was just out for a little bit. I wouldn't just kill him. I've always wanted him to hear this too. Caroline, run. I can't. I heard her cry. I can't. My hands, they're tied.

I understand a little reunion. But if you two aren't quieter, I'm going to have to kill you, Caroline. While he listens, do you want to feel your wife's blood trickle onto your face through the floor? I said nothing. Good. I killed you. I heard Caroline say. I dragged your body.

Oh, I knew you'd run that poor bastard over. What? Who was it then? Who did I kill? Oh, the kind of person no one notices is even gone. The kind of person who will stand on a wooded street all night for a hundred dollars. I'm sorry, but I had to do it. I needed you to think you were free of me.

I was sloppy, my sweetheart. I wanted to be a part of your life, to watch the whole thing unfold. But you were always watching for me. I even buried him for you, so you could never get in trouble. Please don't hurt us. I heard Caroline whimper. Did you know I saw you as a little? little girl. Did you know that? It sounds mad, but I have loved you since then. Since I saw all three feet of you

standing behind your mother at a vigil to find her lost cousin. My, you were so beautiful. But I knew I'd have to wait. I knew I'd have to apply patience that I'd never had before. Please. He ignored her and kept talking. This was my mother's home. We fixed it up together. When she died, I was able to have more fun here. But then I heard you and your husband were looking for home. I priced it so low I knew you'd put it at offer. And for her, and for you. And For the last five years. I heard his voice grow louder, with a kind of pleasure. I slept just a few feet under you.

Every single night, I slept so soundly with my girls, knowing one day I'd add you to their eternal mix. My girls, I thought. I leaned my head out to feel what I was sandwiched between, soft tickle of hair on both sides, bodies on both sides. The nine bodies he first locked in the floor were now beneath the bedroom. I took out all their innards. I smoked the moisture from their corpses like meat.

Isn't that incredible? Nine bodies just feet. from where you sleep and you don't smell a thing. I heard Caroline scream, and I beat my head against the floor. I'll kill you. Oh, calm down, Michael. If only you understood how well I've come to know you too. I heard him stand, and the floor above me began to jostle.

He lifted up an entire section of the bedroom floor, reversed. revealing light that burned my concussed brain. The man bent over to look down at me. He was older, with a long black beard that had begun to gray. This is where I'd come and go. I always thought this door is where you'd discover me. Funny how that is. Never what I've thought you'd tear up that old den.

You didn't even bother to get the lights working in there. I scooched on top of the body to my left so I could see Caroline. Her hands were bound in front of her as well. I caught her eye and spoke what I figured would be some of my last words. I love you so much, Caroline. I love you. Caroline seemed too shocked to respond. But when the man looked at me, I noticed she took the time to wriggle her hands a little.

Her bindings were loose. It was difficult to know when I could come out. Ever since you both started working from here, this little project took on a new level of patience. But my brother was nice enough to help me. He'd let me know when you both left. You've met him, haven't you? Greg. Told him I'd share some of your killing with him in return.

Oh, like I'd ever share you. My lifelong project." The man looked at May and Caroline and nodded, pleased with himself. What do you think? He brought his arms up and let them slap at his sides. A masterpiece, isn't it? I think you're screwed, said Caroline. She threw off her bindings and sprinted from the bedroom. The man recoiled in shock and stumbled to her.

a moment before pursuing her. I pulled my legs up and struggled to contort my body enough so I could stand through the hole in the floor. I heard hard thumps. Caroline screamed down the hall. No, no, Caroline! I managed to stand, and I jumped out of the subfloor. When I found my footing, I started running, hoping to use my momentum to charge into our attacker. There was another thump. And then the whine of a drill. When I got to the doorway to the den, I was just in time to see. Caroline and the man were wedged in one of the sections of subfloor, and she had the heel of her hand pressed hard into the back of the DeWalt.

The six-inch bit I'd put on the drill to bore out the woodboard was all the way depressed into the man's eye socket. She rotated the drill, screaming while stirring his brains like soup. Despite the fear and the gore, I swear in that moment I've never loved that woman more. Caroline? Caroline, he's gone. He's dead. She leaned back on her knees and let the drill fall.

The long bit slowly slid from his eye socked. it. Fucker. She punched him across the face with her right hand. Then with her left. Again and again. I couldn't hold her hands to stop her. Caroline snap out of it.

Untie me. The neighbor, his brother, he could be coming. Her head bolted upright, and she stood and stepped into the hall. Come here, she said, and quickly undid the knot to my bindings. I flung my arms around her and squeezed. I love you. The neighbor, she said, we'll call the police. We'll get in the car, we'll get somewhere safe, and we'll call the police. I saw my phone on the floor from when he'd first attacked me. I stepped down into the den and picked it up. What are you doing? I'm calling the police. She hit the phone from my hand.

And it clacked back down to the subfloor. Caroline leaned down and scooped up the drill. She walked to our bedroom and I followed her in. What the hell? What are you doing? She pinched the blinds and looked out the window. Greg, she said. His lights are off.

His truck is there. He's home and he's unaware. That's great. Let's call the police. Five years, Michael. They did this to us for five years. There was a fury in her eyes I'd never seen before. I know.

Believe me, I know. I'm going to pay Greg a visit. What do you mean? She nodded down at the drill. What? It doesn't matter what he did. If you break in and kill him when you could have called the police, that's still murder. She shrugged and started walking past me.

We'll hide the body. She turned back and clicked the drill trigger a couple times. Blood spun off the bit. I know the perfect place.