18 Dec That House
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"That House"Written by
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Estimated reading time — 7 minutes
First of all, I want to stress the fact that this is a real happening. This is not some story written to get what I write on to a public medium. I am only doing this because I think the story needs to be told. The events that I am about to describe took place by the account of my brother in law. All I have is his story and the fear on his face when he entered my house that afternoon in the fall of 2007. The story is as follows.
My sister, along with her new husband and child, had just moved into a house about a half a mile down the road from my own. A month had passed and, from what they had told me, they were settling in nicely. At the time I was living with my parents after just graduating high school and trying to build up money for college. I was busy doing the dishes when I saw my brother in law, Richard, walking in a hurried fashion from his car, up my dirt driveway, under the porch and stopping in front of the door. The entranceway was a French door so anyone walking towards the house was easily seen. He looked at me and sweat was pouring from his face. Concerned, I walked over and let him in asking if everything was ok. He pushed his way around me and made his way to the sink, where he quickly grabbed a cup and poured a glass from the tap. He moved over to table and took a seat guzzling the water down as if he had just run a marathon, then abruptly set down the cup and stared into nothing. My sister walked through the door next. She had been taking the car seat from the back of her Dodge neon and was a few steps behind her husband. She came in, gave me a look of concern, and went about setting her child, who was sitting in the car seat, and diaper bag on the table. She sat down and clasped her hands together looking at Richard with a frown on her face.
“What’s going on?” I asked as I slid the chair at the tables head and sat down with caution. Richard never looked at me. Cassie, my sister, turned her head towards me, her eyes welling with tears.
“You’re not going to believe it.” She said. Her voice cracked as she placed her hand over her mouth. She turned to her husband and nudged his shoulder. “Tell him Rich.”
Richard just sat there. His eyes focused on a point in space only he could see. His mind, as far as I could tell, was trying to puzzle out what had just taken place. I leaned my head in the path of his starring and broke him free of his thoughts.
“Rich?” I said in a calm tone. “What happened?” He took a deep breath and told me the following.
He had been raking leaves in his yard for the better part of the day, arranging them in piles to be picked up later and placed into a garbage pail. The goal was to arrange all of the leaves in a large pile and burn it during the winter when friends and family come over for coffee and general visiting. This was common practice of families in my town and Richard wanted a piece of that nostalgia for himself. After sectioning off the small piles he took a seat on the stairs that led to his front door and admired his work. He told me that he was thinking about how he was finally a homeowner and his thoughts at the time were of the future for his family and himself. The story continued. He sat there on his stoop for a few minutes when his father’s car entered the driveway and parked. His father got out and walked over to sit with him on the stairs.
“Yard work huh?” His father asked as he bent his knees to rest on the step beside his son with a grunt of old age. Richard nodded his head and his father began to talk to him. He spoke about how difficult it was to raise a family and how, if he could do it over again, he would have washed his hands of the whole ordeal entirely and lived his life alone. He said to Richard that it would be better to live alone. Richard grew uncomfortable and began to tell his father about how he was happy and wouldn’t have it any other way, that he loved his wife and daughter and how they were the best thing to ever happen to him. His father smirked, patted him on the shoulder and with a low tone in his voice stated. “You keep them safe. You never know what could happen. “After saying this, his father walked to his car, opened the door and left still smirking at he exited the driveway. Richard sat there watching his father leave his house with a chill running up his spine. He felt a hand touch his shoulder and a familiar voice call out to him. It was Cassie.
“Richard? Are you going to stare at it or rake the yard?” Rich snapped back. The yard was covered in leaves. There were no small piles dotting the property. No sign that any work was done. He just sat there with rake in hand. The most disturbing aspect of the whole ordeal was that Richard had not seen nor heard from his father for five years. His mother had divorced him year’s earlier and he had moved far away from the state of Louisiana to escape his now ex-wife. It was impossible for his dad to have been there, and when he asked my sister if she had seen his father pull up she stated that no one showed up in the time he had went outside to work. Rich hesitantly asked what time it was. My sister stated plainly that it was five o’clock. His eyes widened.
“Cassie, I came out here at one.” He had been on the porch for four hours sitting there speaking to………..someone. Richard grew pail. My sister became concerned and asked what was bothering him, to which he explained the story I am telling you now. My sister, having a firm belief in the supernatural, came to my house to try to make sense of the situation. He finished his story. Richard looked at me with hesitation, his eyes searching mine for any hint of disbelief. I myself have had encounters with the unexplained in the past, and for me to look at this situation with any judgment or condescension would be grossly inappropriate. I grabbed his shoulder and looked calmly into his eyes.
“We need to find the history of that house.” I stated in an assuring tone. His face relaxed and his shoulders untightened. Immediately I began to search the internet for previous owners, criminal occurrences, or deaths relating to that house. I found much. The most outstanding story that I had found was of a massacre that had taken place in the house during the 80’s. The story goes that the house was notorious for meth and other illegal drugs going in and out of the property. An argument occurred between a few customers and the dealer and his partner that led to a brutal fight between the two parties. All five victims had stabbed each other repeatedly until they all lay dead on the floor. Other stories told of an old man during the 70’s that would show up in the middle of the night claiming that the current tenants were trespassing on his lands yelling threats to kill them and the like. All of the deaths recorded about the house seemed to follow the same order of deranged and angered people lashing out and committing murders in fits of rage. Later I would find out from my father that during the 50’s that his grandfather used to live in this area, and that in that house lived an old lady who was deranged and mad. She would threaten people on the street passing by claiming that she would shoot them and drag their bodies away for no one to find. When my grandfather made the mistake of accidentally walking on her property, she ran after him with a shotgun madly firing into the air shouting that she was going to kill him and eat him. The lady eventually died in that house from a heart attack and wasn’t found until days later. As we talked the uneasiness of my brother in law fell away. Richard, not wanting to believe that something was wrong with his house, dismissed it as being overtired and stressed and went back to his house, shaken but not deterred. It wasn’t long after our talk that something else happened.
A month and a half went by with no further happenings in the house, when a frenzied call came to my home. My mother picked it up. It was Cassie crying and partially yelling as a loud thumping echoed over the call. She kept screaming ‘He’s trying to get in! He’s trying to get in!’ as the thumping sound grew more and more violent. My mother shouted over the phone that my father was on his way. He grabbed his .357 handgun and took off out the door to his truck. My mother hung up the phone, called 911, and we waited in silence for our father to return from rescuing my sister. An hour passed and my father walked through the door alone.
“The police arrived shortly after I got there. Not a moment too soon.” He explained. He was never one to give over to emotion in intense situations, but his face was pail and stressed. “I thought I was going to have to shoot him. “
“Shoot who?” My mother asked.
“The man who was trying to break in to Cassie’s house, that’s who.” He shakily placed the gun on the counter and wiped the sweat from his brow. “He kept shouting I know you have it in there! Come out and give it to me! When I yelled at him to stop he turned and faced me. He walked slowly towards me saying that if I didn’t leave he was going to cut me up and eat me for dinner. That’s when the cops arrived and arrested him. He kept screaming it even as they were putting him into the car. ‘I’m going to cut you all up and eat you!”
“Where was Richard?” My mom asked almost in tears. The next words out of his mouth stopped me dead in my tracks.
“His father came into town and he took Richard out to dinner. He left about four hours ago. Dumb idiot left his phone at home.”
Shortly after that incident, my sister and he family left the home and moved into an apartment on the other side of town. Later I would ask Richard what he thought of that house. His answer was simple.
“If I had the gasoline I would burn it to the ground. It… and whatever lived inside it.”
Credit To: Johnathon Blanton
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