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Estimated reading time — 3 minutes

The following incident occurred last Sunday. I was in my study typing an email for work, when I fancied I heard a noise coming from my kitchen. I disregarded it. The house in which I live is old and strange noises were not uncommon. Not five minutes later I heard the noise again. It was a clicking of some sort. I broke out into a cold sweat. It was the sound of the backdoor unlocking. I opened my desk, pulled out my revolver, and closed the drawer. I stood up and quietly made my way to the door of my study. I carefully opened the door and stepped into the hall.

Darkness greeted me, thick and awful – a shroud hiding whomever was lurking in my house. Then again, the darkness was my protector as well. Knowing my house like the back of my hand, I didn’t bother turning on the lights. If someone truly was here I wanted to get the jump on them. I moved down the hall as silently as possible and listened as hard I could. Silence. Could I have been imagining things? As I mused over these points a soft padding played its way from the direction of my kitchen to the other side of the house. No shoes or boots could make such a stealthy noise. Had the intruder removed his shoes before entering? The steps sounded lighter than a full grown man’s. They sounded like a child’s footsteps or those of a large dog.

At this point I decided to call out. “Hello!” I bellowed loudly, the volume of my voice causing me to recoil! “Get ahold of yourself, man”, I whispered to myself. I yelled out again. “I am armed and the police are on their way!” Stupid me! Why hadn’t I called the police when I was in the study?


I made my way to the kitchen, entered slowly and saw that I was very much alone. Everything seemed to be in its place yet when I turned the lights on I had to choke down a scream – the backdoor I had double locked for the night only two hours before lay wide open! Adding to the horror, I discovered 2 sets of small, muddy barefooted prints leading to the stairs. I closed the door quietly. “Who the fuck is in my house?” I thought, my mind beginning to race, “and how did they undo the locks?” I decided I would follow the footprints and… a new sound impressed itself upon my ears. The sound of muffled conversation came from above. Whoever was in my house had made their way to the upstairs bedroom.

I steeled my nerves and swallowed the lump in my throat. This was my house. Whoever was whispering in my bedroom was invading my privacy and threatening my safety. I had to deal with it. I made to the bottom of the steps, switched on the light and yelled, “Show yourself!” Weighted silence greeted me. “I have a gun and I will use it! Surrender yourself!” My adrenaline began to pump, and no longer cautious, I took the stairs two by two, slammed open my bedroom door, and leveled the gun at… nothing. My large bedroom, the only room on the second floor, was entirely empty. I looked at the floor found the same footprints that were in the kitchen, only they stopped in the middle of the room. My blood ran cold. I checked the closet and under the bed but there was no one to be seen. Was I going mad? I made my way back into hall when the door suddenly slammed closed behind me. I shouted in terror and bounded back down the stairs, through the kitchen, and into my study. I slammed the door and locked it tight. I collapsed in my chair and passed out.


Footsteps. I awoke just in time to hear them pad their way down the stairs, across the kitchen and – to my horror stop outside my study door. Locks seemed powerless to stop these entities and I waited for the knob to turn. Instead, I heard something that chilled my blood. A voice whispering in the hall. A horrible voice belonging to someone no longer alive! My heart pounded. My blood froze in my veins. My lips moved and my throat uttered a gibbering mess. The doorknob began to turn, the locks disengaging as if by magic. The door creaked open slowly.


Nothing. Emptiness. Darkness. I feared I had gone truly mad. Then again the sounds of footsteps, but this time going away from my study. The back door opened and closed leaving me in deafening silence. After what seemed like an eternity, I stood and shakily made my way to the kitchen. The light was still on and nothing seemed out of order. The back door was closed and I could see that the lock was again engaged. Looking around, I noticed a piece of paper on the table. I moved closer, picked up the note, and began to laugh horribly. It read, “Sorry, wrong house.”

Credit To – Big Dom

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21 thoughts on “Visitor”

  1. The real horror for the narrator starts now, after the end of the story, it’s not as silly or light-hearted as many seem to think. Somebody else will receive visitors soon, and what to do? Figure it out? Live with the thought that he didn’t even try anything to help whoever lives in the right house? Always asking himself, of what had he been spared, thanks to the luck that even hell and vengeful spirits have their rules. If he decides to try and do something – he’ll risk his life after all, if he decides to simply be happy it wasn’t im, he’ll always think about it as soon as he’ll see/read news about a mysterious death of – probably – a neighbour.

    Very nice.

  2. The ending cracked me up. Not very often you find a Pasta with a funny twist at the end like that. Wonderful!

    I give you 10/10 my good sir, simply because I was laughing at the end. Bravo.

  3. I know the ending is silly but seriously like who the fluff unlocks your locks, goes into your house make muddy footprints and than leaves a note saying “sorry wrong house” like wouldn’t that be trespassing?

    1. Uhm, not really.

      The character in this story couldn’t see the entity in his/her house, while the shadow and/or form of the entity in the comic was plainly seen.

      Plus this is a story, not a comic strip – and it had much, much more detail and thought put in to it than that comic.

  4. April foolz.
    So who was supposed to be dead, cause i know that some people can sound exactly like other people?

  5. The suspense building on this one was off the charts, really great job. Even though the ending was kinda silly I was still freaked out of my mind after I read this, the chills from my spine just refused to go…
    The fact that on several times the man knows FOR SURE that something is there (because of the footprints and the locks disengaging) and yet he founds nothing everytime is really disturbing, probably one of the best techniques in telling a creepypasta.

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