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My neighbour is a monster. He must be stopped

my neighbour is a monster he must be stopped

Estimated reading time — 11 minutes

I’m writing this journal to collect my thoughts and leave a record for my children, so they can understand why I’ve taken these actions. Because, when all’s said and done, everything I do is to protect my family and to make sure they have a home to come back to once this is all done. I don’t know if I’ll survive the battles ahead, but I know my legacy will live on.

It all started a week ago – a mere seven days for my whole life to fall apart. That’s when he moved into the old Johnson place, less than two hundred yards from my home. I don’t know what the entity is exactly – a demon, cryptid, or something else…Who can say? All I know is that it’s a monster – a beast with malicious intent.

His reign of terror began as little more than low level intimidation, but soon escalated into something far more sinister and dangerous. I came home one night last week and spotted the dim light shining through the old farm’s window. I thought this was unusual.

Mr Johnson had owned the farm for the best part of thirty years, but he died of a heart attack last winter. The old farmhouse has been vacant since his death, as his distant relatives continue to argue over the estate. The light I saw that night caused me some concern because I thought someone had broken in – a squatter or partying teenagers perhaps.

I vowed to check it out the next day, but I confess that it slipped my mind, as I was worried about mundane daily things such as work, my marriage, and looking after the kids. It might have ended there but it didn’t.

The next night was when things started to take a sinister turn. The screams began around midnight – a high-pitched squealing coming from the old Johnson place. The din was horrifying; something akin to a banshee’s wail. It went on for hours, the awful sound reverberating through my skull, nearly driving me insane.

The strangest thing is that no-one else could hear it – not my wife, my son, or my daughter…not even the dog! I remember screaming at my wife to be heard over the god-awful din and she just looked at me like I was crazy. I couldn’t understand it at the time. Was the monster choosing to torment me, and only me? I couldn’t believe this was the case.

Perhaps I have a sixth sense – an instinct which alerts me when my family are in danger, even when the threat is supernatural in origin. On that first night I armed myself with a baseball bat and headed out, meaning to confront whatever was creating this horrific noise. But I didn’t make it.

I got within 50 yards of the farmhouse before collapsing to my knees, feeling like my head was about to explode. Fighting through my pain, I looked up at the house, seeing a dark shadow standing at an upper window, glaring down at me with menacing intent. I couldn’t make out any features, but I knew in my heart that the being watching me was pure evil.

I swore I could hear the creature laughing cruelly as I crawled back to my home, the pain in my skull gradually subsiding.

It played out the same over the next few nights. I didn’t know how to stop the hideous sound, so I took to wearing noise-reducing headphones. I reckoned the monster wouldn’t stay in Johnson’s farmhouse forever. Surely he was only using the derelict building as a staging post, softening me up with psychological warfare before launching his attack upon my family.

I spent the daylight hours preparing – barricading windows and doors and constructing a collection of homemade weapons. When it comes to home defence I believe in relying on my own mettle rather than calling the police.

My wife wasn’t happy though. We had a blazing row on the third day, and she took the kids and the dog in her car, saying she was going to stay with her mother until ‘I came back to my senses’. I was angry with her and couldn’t understand why she didn’t trust me. After all, I was doing all this to protect her and the kids. But I rationalized that it was for the best, as they would be out of harm’s way when the shit hit the fan. I had no intention in running away however.

Last night, the screaming stopped quite suddenly at about 3am. I’d gotten so used to the terrible din ringing in my ears and so should have felt relieved, but I knew this was likely the calm before the storm – a prelude to something far worse.

I turned out all the lights in my house and took cover behind my barricaded front door, holding my loaded shotgun tightly as I peeked out through the letterbox. I felt a foreboding sense of dread as I observed the lonely country lane directly outside of my home, a narrow road shrouded in darkness, with the only illumination coming from the stars above and the dim light emanating from Johnson’s old farmhouse.

I must have perched there for about three or four hours, shivering from the cold and something worse – a primal terror. I tried my best to stay alert, but I was exhausted, and so my eyes began to droop. But then I heard it – the sound of heavy footsteps, slowly but surely making their way down the lane.

I was wide awake in an instant, jumping to attention as I grabbed hold of my gun, opening the door ever so slightly and poking the barrel out through the gap. The tension was unbearable and the terror I felt was almost overwhelming as I waited for the monster to emerge. My finger was poised on the trigger. My hands shook, but I was determined to take the bastard out, if the opportunity arose.

Finally, the creature appeared at the top of the laneway, still hidden in the shadows and about 50 yards or so from my front door. I could see very little in the dark – just a shape which looked like a man, although I knew it was anything but. I silently begged for him to come closer, not because I wanted to see the monster’s true form, but so I could get a clean shot at the bastard.

But he seemed to have anticipated my plan, as he stopped dead in the middle of the road, glaring at me across the void. I knew the beast could see me and I could feel his hateful gaze upon me. And then he started to laugh – a terrifying cackle which filled the night air.

The noise was horrific, even worse than the screams of the previous nights. This evil being was mocking me – laughing at my pain. Suddenly, my fear turned to anger as I pulled the trigger, firing buckshot across the void. But my target was standing just out of range, and he barely even reacted to the shot, instead continuing to laugh in open mockery, until he eventually turned on his heels and calmly walked back up the lane, returning to the abandoned farmhouse he’d transformed into his hellish nest.

I was left badly shaken by the encounter and remained at my post until dawn, expecting a follow up attack. But the monster was done for the night, and I lived to see the morning.

So, this brings me up to date. This is my story. My fight. From this point forwards I will document my daily battles with this monster. I’ll prepare during the day and fight after dark, and I won’t stop until one of us is dead.



I spent the daylight hours building traps along the laneway and across the adjacent fields. In the morning I constructed up a punji trap affixed to a tree trunk and set a trip wire across the narrow laneway. My afternoon was occupied by building a homemade pipe bomb, which I plan to use as an improvised hand grenade, if the monster gets close enough.

My anxiety returned as darkness fell, but I felt more confident given the preparations I’d made throughout the day. For the first time since this nightmare began, I dared to think I’d gained the upper hand, but then I did something stupid which put me in grave danger. I fell asleep.

I should have expected it really. I hadn’t rested for days after all, and pure adrenaline will only take you so far. I was perched up against the barricades keeping watch whenever my strength finally gave way, and I closed my eyes. I don’t know how long I was asleep, but the monster caught me off guard.

I awoke to screaming, the banshee-like wailing of the previous nights, except louder, as the terrible sound was emanating from right outside of my front door. I jumped up in terror, instinctively grabbing for my shotgun in a desperate attempt to defend myself. But it was already too late.

The monster smashed through my barricade like it was made of paper. A second later, he used immense strength to smash in my solid oak door, knocking me down in the process. I was almost crushed by the weight of the door falling on top of me, experiencing a sharp pain in the back of my head as I hit the hard ground. I lost consciousness a second later, but the last experience I had before everything went black was the sound of the creature’s sadistic laughter.

The first rays of sunlight were visible by the time I regained consciousness. My head was still throbbing as I struggled to pull my bruised body out from underneath the fallen door. Frankly, I was astonished to have survived the assault. The monster had gotten the better of me and I’d been completely at his mercy, and yet he hadn’t struck the fatal blow. I can only conclude that he wishes to prolong my suffering. But my nemesis has made a fatal mistake, and he should have killed me whenever he had the chance.

So, I pulled myself together, bandaged my head, downed some painkillers, and got back to work.




After repairing the front door, I set more traps throughout the day, digging a pit and lining the bottom with sharpened spikes, before covering it with branches and leaves. Next, I prepared a supply of Molotov cocktails, using old beer bottles and petrol siphoned from my fuel tank.

My head was still throbbing, and I didn’t want to risk passing out again, so I got a few hours sleep to recharge before the night’s battle. I stood guard at the door, expecting a repeat of the previous night’s assault, but my nemesis changed his tactics, toying with me and testing my defenses.

He circled my house, forcing me from window to window. All I could see was a dark shadow moving behind the treeline, prompting me to take pot shots with my gun. But I never hit him, and he laughed in open mockery every time I missed. I realised too late what his plan was. He wanted me to expend my supply of ammunition. And he almost succeeded, leaving me with only two shells.

Pangs of panic hit me at this point as I considered my next move. If the monster broke in again – which he was certainly capable of doing – I wasn’t sure I could stop the bastard. I considered making a last stand, or even burning the house down around me…a desperate ‘scorched earth’ tactic to deny my nemesis his final victory. But this didn’t prove necessary, as the creature broke off his attack, leaving me to fight another day.

No doubt he wants to prolong my misery for at least another night. But I’ve got a surprise in store for the bastard, because I’m not going to play by his rules any longer.


Wednesday (afternoon)

I want to document my thoughts and emotions before darkness falls, as I have a terrible feeling that tonight might be my last on this world. I phoned my wife this morning. It didn’t go well. I just wanted to speak with the kids, but she refused to put them on the phone, saying I would only upset them. I lost my temper and shouted at her, and she hung up on me. I tried calling back, but it went straight to the answering machine.

I just don’t understand the woman anymore. Doesn’t she realise I’m doing all this for her and our children? If I don’t defend our home, then who will? I was upset following the argument but knew I had to put it behind me and focus on the task at hand. Everything will get back to normal once this monster is defeated.

Still, I cannot escape the awful thought that I may not win this battle, that I could die at the hands of my nemesis. But at least if the worst happens I’ll have stood my ground, and my children can take pride in knowing I fought for them.

One way or another this will be over before dawn. I’m tired of hiding away and waiting for this bastard to come to me. Tonight, I’m going on the offensive.


Wednesday (night)


I’m hurt…bad. Somehow I managed to get back inside the house, but I don’t know how long I’ve got before I pass out due to blood loss. I considered calling for help…perhaps the ambulance will get here in time. But the truth is, I’m ashamed. The ‘monster’ is dead, that’s a certainty. But my victory is a hollow one. I don’t know how this happened, but I must try to explain, for the sake of my children.

I launched my attack shortly after dusk, advancing down the laneway and across the fields, armed with my shotgun and carrying the pipe bomb I’d constructed over the previous few days. The horrible noise began almost as soon as I stepped out of my front door, the banshee-like screaming which deafened me, reverberating inside of my skull.

It was nearly unbearable, but I was determined to fight through the pain. I was practically crawling through the mud for the last 50 yards, my head pounding like my skull was about to explode. I almost passed out due to the pain, but somehow I kept going, my aching eyes focused upon my goal – the dilapidated old dwelling transformed into a hell house.

I saw him in the window, a dark shadow watching me, emitting the hellish sound in an attempt to break me. I experienced a surge of righteous anger as I approached the house… lifting my bomb, lighting the fuse, and throwing it with all my might. The pipe bomb flew through the air, smashing the glass and landing inside of the house. A second later and the device detonated with a deafening blast.

The shadowy figure rapidly retreated from the window and emitted a howl of what I took to be pain. I cried out in triumph, knowing that I’d finally gotten the better of the bastard. Rushing forwards, I kicked in the front door of the house and stormed inside with my shotgun in hand. I quickly discovered a trail of flesh blood, following it deeper into the house, barely acknowledging my surroundings as I focused entirely upon my quarry.

Spotting movement in the corner of my eye, I turned to see a figure fleeing down a darkened corridor. Acting on instinct, I raised my shotgun, aimed and fired, feeling the heavy kick-back against my shoulder. I saw my nemesis fall after the buckshot tore through his back.

I can’t describe the ecstasy I felt in that moment, having finally bested my enemy. I practically skipped down the corridor so I could examine his body. Reaching out with both hands, I turned his heavy, lifeless body over, expecting to see the face of an inhuman monster…But, to my shock and horror, I saw a man.

A normal human being, no different from myself, except his eyes were shut and he was no longer breathing. It struck me so hard in that terrible moment, as I realised I’d killed what appeared to be an innocent. But how could this be possible? This man couldn’t have been the one harassing me over the last few nights. It was impossible!

I suddenly felt quite ill, retreating from the corpse as I scanned the surrounding corridor in detail for the first time. What I saw wasn’t the abandoned, decrepit old farmhouse I expected to find but rather a lived-in home – a comfortable family dwelling. I looked to a table with a lamp, picking up a neatly framed photograph. The picture inside was that of a man and his family; his wife and two young children. And the man I’d shot was the father in the picture.

I’d killed a family man; someone just like me. My head was spinning and I felt like I would vomit, as I dropped the picture and retreated back down the corridor, away from the body of the man I’d brutally killed. I couldn’t bear to be in that house any longer, not after what I’d done.

I started to run, rushing out through the door I’d kicked in before sprinting across the darkened fields. I could hear screaming behind me, but not like it was before. It was a woman and children crying out in grief. They’d found his body.

Tears were rolling down my cheeks as I fled from the scene like a coward. I guess I was still in a state of shock, because I forgot about the pit in front of my door, and I unwittingly fell into my own trap, piercing my leg on a sharpened spike. Somehow I avoided impaling myself, but I sliced my thigh open and started bleeding like a pig.
I’ve managed to pull myself out and apply a makeshift tourniquet, temporarily halting the flow of blood. I don’t know if I’ll lose consciousness or whether the wound will become infected. Or maybe I’ll just end it all, using my final shotgun shell to blow my head off. I don’t think I can go on after this, not after killing an innocent man.

I’m trying to understand how this happened. Was I fooled by some kind of black magic? Or was it all in my head? It hardly matters now, I suppose. I thought I was doing the right thing by fighting to protect my home and my family, but perhaps I was the monster all along. God forgive me, because I doubt anyone else will.

Credit : Woundlicker


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