I remember when the nightmares first started. I think it was ten, maybe twelve years ago. We had just gotten a new house, one of those old buildings that cracked and groaned when anything moved inside it, the ones they sell real cheap to poor families like mine instead of demolishing. I was only 16 at the time, and my dad thought that he, my brother, and I could use a rest start away from the city. Sometimes I wish we never started, I wish we never moved out of our old apartment, but sometimes, I understand that maybe it was fate that brought me here, fate that dragged me to the front steps of a nightmare.
I remember that first night that the man appeared, tall and pale. I saw him immediately, and tried to move, tried to scream, but I was frozen, stuck in the bed as he stood just in the corner of the doorframe, his face devoid of features except for the two black pits that made his eyes as he watched me.
I of course knew what was happening the moment I realized that I couldn’t move: I was experiencing sleep paralysis. I knew that I had gotten it a couple of times before, but in those times, I never really saw anything, and while I knew it was possible, I didn’t really ever expect to actually SEE something watching me.
I told my dad about it the next day, and he said I was probably tired and stressed after the move, and just too worried about never seeing my friends again, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. But, he was my dad, so I knew to listen to him. and I told myself that maybe it was really just stress.
and then the second night came around, and there I was yet again, frozen in place. This time however, there was nothing in the doorframe, the room felt almost empty as I turned my eyes to my left, until suddenly, I began to feel panic. I could hear something above me, just out of sight, a weak, guttural groaning as I fearfully turned my eyes to the ceiling and saw the source of the horrible sound.
It was a woman in a white dress, her hair twisted and matted, and her skin pale enough to see every black vein through her stretched skin, and her eyes were sunken deep into the sockets. Her jaw opened impossibly wide as she gasped and groaned, reaching a bony finger to point at me as bugs and worms fell from her body and onto my face.
and then, it was morning.
The third night was the one that made us move again, the night that I remember most, and probably why I remember the other nights as well as I did.
I was able to move this time, but the man was still there, his pale face still skinless and featureless save for the deep holes in his face that gazed at me, I watched in horror as he pointed at me, slowly stepping from the doorway and showing me the horror that stood in front of me. He was wearing a monkey suit, and a set of black shoes, the kind that people nowadays would pay thousands for.
As he moved, frail step after frail step, I suddenly heard the groaning, and hesitantly turned my head to the ceiling, watching as the woman yet again pulled herself out from the dusty surface, her bones now cracking and groaning as she crawled out, reaching for me. I could feel every part of my mind rushing by, I could hear my heart pounding in my chest as I began to sob,
releasing a weak “what do you want from me?” From my dried lips.
to my surprise, the pair stopped, turning their heads towards me, before suddenly the man began to claw at his sealed mouth, ripping off the skin that covered his teeth in a display of gore that burned into my mind. Slowly, he began to speak, raspy and dry, his voice as tired and dead as he was, I could see his chest rise and fall throughout every word.
“We… want… freedom”
I was taken aback, hesitantly asking another question.
“Freedom from what?”
and now the woman spoke, her voice soft and raspy, and occasionally interrupted by the horrid sound of her gagging as worms and flies forced their way out of her throat.
”Freedom.. from this house…
freedom to rest….
all of us… all of us…”
“How many of you are there?” I stuttered,
and then the hands came, tearing out of the ceiling and walls like bullets, each one tearing away at wood, fiberglass, and plaster to reveal thousands of rotting, groaning faces, skulls and sockets stared at me as a thousand voices screamed in unison, screaming out their answer.
“HUNDREDS. hundreds HUNDREDS”
Suddenly, everything disappeared, all of the faces, the man, and the woman, and I snapped awake, my dad shaking me as I screamed uncontrollably.
That was what made my dad call the police, and after a few minutes of searching, they found the bodies. It was horrifying. Apparently, one of them saw something gleaming from a small hole in the wall, and took a hammer to it.
In total, there were exactly 231 bodies found inside of the house, each one having gone missing nearly fifty years ago, some even longer. However, the thing I find the most disturbing was the last two sets of corpses, nearly 60 years old. They were a couple, still in their tattered and dusty marriage clothes. The police said that when they found them, there were scratches and tears on the wall they were trapped inside of, their clawing desperate hands still weakly stuck into the plaster, pointing with their cold, ground down nails.
They were found right behind my bedroom wall.