The Secret of My Family Home

For as long as he can remember, he’s had dreams where he feels completely unable to move. In these dreams, he sees only darkness and hears whispers—soft, yet relentless. As the dreams are about to end, he often experiences sleep paralysis, which only prolongs his torment, making the nightmare last even longer.

His parents have always dismissed his experiences, saying that they too have nightmares and that it’s normal. They would tell him he just needs to get used to it, insisting it’s nothing worth focusing on.

When he turned eighteen and got his driver’s license, his nightmares seemed like nothing more than echoes of the past.

One day, when he came home early from his friends, he overheard his parents talking, unaware of his presence. They were discussing a recent article in the newspaper about how their old house had caught fire due to a lightning strike during the last storm. They mentioned that no one lived there anymore anyway.

“Old house? What do you mean?” he asked, confused.

His parents, clearly surprised by his early return, tried to mask their surprise. They told him it was nothing important, that before this house, they had lived in another one. “It’s no wonder you don’t remember it; you were very young,” they explained.

“I lived in another house and don’t even remember? How old was I?” he pressed, trying to get more details.

His parents, obviously reluctant to continue the conversation, replied that he was maybe three or four years old, but they showed no interest in discussing the matter further, so the topic quickly ended.

The boy remembered that his parents mentioned an article in the newspaper, so he realized that he could find information about the house there—what it looked like, where it was located. However, at home, there was no sign of the newspaper his parents had talked about, which struck him as odd since they usually didn’t throw them away until a week after buying them. That same day, before evening, he went to the store to buy a copy for himself.

He froze when a wave of memories hit him like a sledgehammer as he saw the picture on the front page. It was a house he knew, a house that often appeared in his nightmares. He didn’t understand why this picture filled him with such unease, but there was something ominous about it, something that made his heart race. He stood motionless for several seconds, staring blankly at the building in the photo, completely unaware of the world around him.

When he came to, he bought the newspaper and found out where the place was located. A few months ago, he had gotten his driver’s license, but he had only driven short distances around the neighborhood, on familiar roads. For some time now, he had been planning to take a longer drive, feeling more confident behind the wheel. And what place would be more fitting for such a trip than his family home, shrouded in the fog of forgotten memories?

After returning home, the boy went to bed. That night, the nightmares returned. He was surrounded by impenetrable darkness, his wrists and ankles immobilized. He heard a loud, yet incomprehensible and grating voice coming from above, as if he were a small child. Then, he heard footsteps approaching him. With each step, his fear grew rapidly, until he realized that whatever was making those sounds was nearly upon him. He awoke from the nightmare, drenched in cold sweat.

But the nightmare didn’t end there. He lay in bed for a few more minutes, unable to move. He couldn’t remember the last time he had suffered from sleep paralysis, and now he feared that the source of those footsteps might appear in the waking world.

But the sleep paralysis finally ended.

It was early morning, that haunting hour when night blends into dawn. After everything that had happened, there was no chance he could fall back asleep. So, after a quick shower, he quietly left the house, careful not to wake his parents. Grabbing a flashlight, he got into his car and set off toward his destination.

After an hour of driving, a sense of unease began to settle over him. “I know this area, I know these trees and buildings,” he thought, a chilling realization creeping in. He was in a place that should have been unfamiliar but felt disturbingly familiar. In the distance, a house emerged from the fog—a house slightly blackened from charred wood and smoke. The roof was completely gone, yet much of the structure had been spared by the firefighters.

He parked his car nearby and slowly approached the entrance, an inexplicable tension growing within him. He stepped through the gaping hole where a window had once been, just days earlier. Inside, a sense of dread gripped him. The place seemed both alien and strangely familiar. Every corner, every shadow, stirred mixed emotions within him, as if he were rediscovering something long buried in his memory.

Suddenly, his eyes were drawn to something—an old, heavy door leading to the basement. It stood dark and ominous, like the entrance to some forgotten underworld. A cold shiver ran down his spine. “Get a grip, you’re an adult,” he told himself, but the fear lingered, refusing to let go.

He pushed the door open and slowly began descending the stairs, as if he were stepping down into the depths of an abyss. With each step, he felt as though he was sinking deeper into darkness. Suddenly, a wave of weakness overcame him as memories hit him like a sledgehammer. He knew this room all too well, for he had spent countless hours here, often entire days—his hands and feet bound, lying on the cold, dusty floor, surrounded by darkness, with only the sounds of scurrying mice breaking the silence.

His heart started to race, beating rapidly and irregularly, and he felt his limbs weakening. The vision before his eyes began to blur, and his body grew heavier with each passing second. “Will I find myself unconscious in this dark cell once again?” he thought, as he collapsed to the floor, losing consciousness.

He woke up in his own home, lying on his soft bed, with his father sitting beside him in a chair. His father’s face lit up as he saw his son awake, but there was deep concern in his eyes.

“Tell me the truth, no matter how awful it might be. I need to know!” the boy shouted, unable to bear the weight of uncertainty any longer.

His father hesitated, clearly struggling with himself. But he knew the time had come to reveal everything. His voice was heavy as he finally began to speak.

“It’s our fault… all of this is because of us. We thought we were protecting you, but we failed. The babysitter… it never occurred to me that something might be wrong with her. For a month, we left you with her while we were at work. Every day we came home, everything seemed fine. You never said a word about her. Then you caught a cold, and we assumed that’s why you were so quiet and withdrawn. But even after you recovered, you were still sad, and I knew something was wrong.

That day, I left work early on purpose. I came home, and no one was in the living room. The basement door was ajar… I opened it and saw her tying your hands. I charged at her, knocked her down, and called the police.

I’m so sorry!” His father began to sob, his shoulders shaking.

“I can’t imagine how many times she did this to you… and I have no idea what drove her to it. The memory of that day haunts my nightmares, and it must have been an unbearable burden for a child. You forgot because it was too much for you to handle.”

“But memories always come back, son, and they’re never as dead as we’d like them to be.”