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It Lives At The Bottom Of My Stairs



Estimated reading time — 4 minutes

I stand at the top of my stairs, socked toes curling into the carpet as one hand squeezes the door handle and the other hovers over the light switch, trying to decide if it’s safe to turn the lights out. It’s nearly seven at night, I have about an hour before sundown, but it’s just dim enough in the stairwell to make me doubt if that really matters. I stare down at the welcome mat, and though I see nothing, I know the thing that lives at the bottom of my stairs is watching me, too. I know it’s gauzy white eyes never blink, and that it’s teeth, thin and too long for it’s mouth, extending far past it’s leathery lips cannot smile, but I feel as if it’s grinning at me. I know it’s gaunt, lanky limbs are curled and crouched around it’s small body, waiting to lunge the second the light is out.

I know it isn’t real, if it was real I would be able to see it, but even as I remind myself of this, I leave the light on.

You see, I made him up, the creature that lives at the bottom of my stairs. I’ve always had an active imagination. Many children create monsters or imaginary friends with rules; a man who runs beside the car, but can only run in the shadow of the vehicle. A ghost who befriends you, but is invisible to anyone older than you. A monster who waits at the bottom of your stairs, but can’t move until the lights are out.

I’m not sure why I never stopped doing this. I’m approaching my mid twenties, and most children stopped around ten. Or at least they stopped talking about it. I try to keep my concerns to myself, though I have had to explain myself a time or two as to why I have to be the one who closes the door. I’m the only one who knows what he’s doing, because I created him.

The worst part is I know that he only exists because I think he does. There have been weeks or months where I can go up the stairs to my apartment and not feel his eyes on my back, his claw like fingers waiting to rip into me. All it takes is a stray thought, and he’s there again.

There have been times where I was too slow to close my door after I turned the light out. Nothing happens right away, though I know he is in my apartment with me. There is always a chill in my spine and a cold stone in my stomach when he gets past my door, but it’s not like he drags me down the stairs or anything. For some reason, though I know he is capable of killing me, he doesn’t.

Even when I succeed, sometimes there is this dull thudding noise that starts at 2am, and continues until sunrise. Like he’s slamming his dry, callus, too big hands against the door. Demanding I open it and let him in. This has been the hardest part about accepting he is not real, because I have had guests ask me about the noise. I never know what to tell them.

Though on the nights he gets in, I can feel him watching me from the doorway to my room, which unfortunately shares a wall with that stairwell. He sits in the same spot all night, breath wheezing out his squished, bat-like nose, body twitching and contorting as he runs his clawed fingers over his face in anticipation. Though I will never claimed to have actually seen him, I will say I feel as if a trick of the light or a stray shadow have sometimes looked as if they were trying to reveal him to me.

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My biggest worry is I think he’s getting closer with each time I fail. He started right outside my doorway, but he was a mere three feet from me the last time. I can’t really tell, because he isn’t real and because I can’t see him, but I think he’s getting more worked up. I don’t know what he’s so excited about, but I can guess it will happen when he has made his way to sit at the foot of my bed.

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I think he’s getting faster. I have been failing more often than not to keep him out. It won’t be long now before he reaches his goal, whatever that goal is. Maybe it’s to torment me, and feed off my fear of what he’ll do next. If that’s his goal, he’s succeeding.

It’s killing me. I can’t sleep knowing he’s there. I know he’s never attacked me in the past but I’m always scared that tonight will be the night he decides that enough is enough and goes for it. My lack of sleep is hurting my job. My paranoia is ruining my relationships. All I do is sit at home and hide away from the creature I don’t know how to stop.

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I’m sick of it.

So tonight, I’m not going to hide. Tonight, I’m leaving the door to the stairwell open when I turn off the light. I’m turning off all the lights in my shitty apartment and I’m going to sit on my bed in the dark. Tonight when his twisted body lunges and lurches its way into my room I’m not going to pretend I don’t see him. I’m not going to pretend that just because I made him up that means he’s not real. I’m going to look him in those disgusting cloudy eyes and accept my fate. I’m tired of waiting.

Credit: lalaluma

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20 thoughts on “It Lives At The Bottom Of My Stairs”

  1. The 5th generation Gangster

    you really need to at least set up an ending I mean good story but still it’s not satisfactory

  2. It was amazing but i really wanted to know what happened next.. Did you get attacked? Was the creature hostile? What happened???

  3. Yikes! I’m normally so careful with that shit, I’m surprised I let it slip so much.
    I’ll keep an eye out for mistakes like that, and try to get a proofreader for future works

  4. Really good content and storyline. Save for the fairly regular grammatical mistakes, such as omitting important words, this pasta would be a great one. It really does need fleshing out some more and character development. Again, excellent storyline.

  5. Very cool! Love the idea that the monster only exists because the narrator lets it. I think this idea is also easily relatable. I was always afraid of my basement as a child and always had to run up the stairs and turn the lights off once I got up because I felt like something was chasing me. I’m pretty sure a lot of people had this fear as I’ve seen posts about it on facebook before.
    Also, kudos for keeping it short and sweet. Some people said it should be longer but I think it’s fine the way it is. It would probably be good longer as well but I think it’s much more of a challenge to create a good quality story in so little words. :)

  6. It has a LOT of potential. Part two?
    Although I do understand the philosophy underneath it through human paranoia and what we create through sheer faith that it is there. Nice.

  7. Maybe its me venting, as the story wasn’t bad, but I see a pattern of protagonists in the Creepypasta world that have at least one of these characteristics:
    “I have always had an active imagination”
    “I was always a loner”
    “I am a fan of horror”
    “I have always been drawn to the supernatural”
    Then you have the character that has a haunting and completely gives up by the end. No fight in them whatsoever. Your character never actually sees the monster, only hears it a little bit, is convinced its not real, but is totally ok with this imaginary creature coming into the room and doing whatever it is to him/her. Its hard for me to empathize with that kind of character.
    Sorry for the rant, as its not really directed at your story itself, just the creepypasta archetype of the character that gives up without a real fight.

    1. I actually really appreciate feedback like this, and can totally see where you’re coming from. It can be frustrating to see the same kind of story repeated. I won’t say this is my best work, it’s just the one I had done at the time.

  8. This really wasn’t a bad story. My only complaint was that it was too short. The author introduced some ideas that could be really good if they were fleshed out a bit more. I personally would like to see examples of how the narrator’s paranoia is hurting his/her job and relationships. Maybe I’m a sadist, but I want the story to show us the mental anguish that the narrator’s going through. Great potential, I just wish it was a little longer and more detailed.

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