This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.
The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/No-Glass-3279 on 2024-09-10 20:06:13+00:00.
I was fourteen when my parents sent me to stay with Aunt Meredith and Uncle Cole in Pennsylvania. I looked forward to a few weeks with my cousins, Sara and Ethan, in a town that felt like the perfect escape from the monotony of home. Their neighborhood was quaint—a quiet cul-de-sac with tidy lawns and kids playing until dusk, the kind of place where you’d expect the ice cream truck to make its rounds like clockwork.
Sara and Ethan were only a year or two younger than me, but they had endless energy and a knack for finding trouble. Almost immediately, they introduced me to Henry and Jacob, two boys from a few houses down. Jacob was sixteen, tall, with a sly grin that made you wonder if he was always up to something.
We spent most days exploring the woods of Kimber Hills at the end of the street, a place that felt wild and alive, where every shadow seemed to hide a secret, and every rustling leaf sounded like a hidden creature. I loved the thrill of stepping into the unknown, but one afternoon, as we were getting ready to head out, a woman from the last house on the street called out to us. She had a kind face and silver-streaked hair pulled into a neat bun.
"You kids can play anywhere," she said from her porch. "Even down by the creek. But stay away from Puckett Street."
We stopped, surprised by her tone. Sara gave me a puzzled look. "What’s Puckett Street?" I asked.
The woman’s smile faded. "Just trust me, dear," she said, her voice firm. "You don’t want to go there."
At dinner that night, I brought it up. Uncle Cole was sitting at the head of the table with my aunt to his left. He was usually easygoing, always ready with a joke, but his face darkened at the mention of Puckett Street. He set his fork down with a deliberate clink, eyes narrowing.
“You didn’t go there, did you?” His voice was low, almost a growl.
I shook my head quickly. “No, we didn’t. I just heard about it.”
Aunt Meredith exchanged a look with him, her fingers nervously twisting the napkin in her lap. “Mr. Stimble lives there,” she said softly. “He’s… not a nice man. Likes to keep to himself.”
Uncle Cole leaned forward, his voice firm. “You listen to me. Stay away from Puckett Street. No one goes there. Ever.”
The sternness in his voice sent a chill down my spine. I nodded, too afraid to ask more.
For a few days, we kept to the familiar trails, trying to forget about it. But Jacob was curious. He kept bringing it up in little ways, taunting us about being too scared to find out what was so bad about Puckett Street.
Then, one hot afternoon, Jacob threw a rock into the creek and smirked. “What do you think’s so bad about Puckett Street?” he challenged. “Maybe they’re hiding something, or some old guy just wants his privacy. Either way, I want to know.”
Ethan hesitated. “Maybe there’s a reason everyone says to stay away.”
But Jacob wasn’t convinced. “Come on. Aren’t you curious?”
I felt a pit form in my stomach. I wanted to say no, but I found myself nodding. “Just a look,” I whispered, glancing at Sara, who seemed equally unsure. “And then we go.”
We moved deeper into Kimber Hills, the path narrowing and the trees pressing in close. After about fifteen minutes, we reached it—a fence made of old wood and rusted wire, almost swallowed by ivy and brush. Beyond it, Puckett Street stretched like a forgotten road.
There it was—a small house with cream-colored siding, its faded purple shutters looking out of place. The lawn was too perfect, the rocking chair on the porch swaying slowly despite the stillness of the air.
“See? Just a house,” Jacob scoffed. “Nothing special.”
But everything about the place felt wrong—too quiet, too still. Before any of us could protest, Jacob grinned and darted across the street. “I’m going to knock!” he called back.
We watched, hearts pounding, as he knocked once, twice. No answer. He turned to leave, but then the door creaked open. A massive figure filled the doorway. A hand shot out, grabbing Jacob by the collar and yanking him inside. The door slammed shut, cutting off his scream as quickly as it began.
Henry began pushing me and Sara. “Go, go, go!” he hissed, and we ran, tearing through the underbrush, not stopping until we burst into my aunt and uncle’s house. Breathless and panicked, we blurted out what happened.
Uncle Cole’s face went pale. He grabbed a pistol from the drawer and headed out without a word. Aunt Meredith’s hands shook as she dialed 911.
Hours passed. The sun dipped below the horizon, shadows stretched long and dark across the walls. Henry’s mom came to get him, leaving just Aunt Meredith and me waiting in a heavy, fearful silence.
When Uncle Cole finally returned, he looked shattered. His jeans were smeared with mud, and his shirt was soaked with sweat. His hands trembled, and his eyes were wild, hollow.
“What happened?” Aunt Meredith whispered.
He swallowed hard. “The police broke down the door,” he said, voice barely steady. “Stimble… didn’t answer. They heard screaming—an awful, inhuman sound. They shot him… he’s dead.”
Aunt Meredith gasped, but Uncle Cole continued, “They found Jacob, or… what was left of him. Pieces. Scattered, like something had torn him apart.”
I felt a cold dread settle over me. “Did...Mr. Stimble...?"
Uncle Cole’s eyes were wide and haunted as he shook his head. “There was something in that house," he murmured. "Not a man, not an animal… but something. When they shot Stimble, a door to the attic creaked open… and this… thing came out. Skeletal, thin as bone, eyes burning like embers in a skull. It moved so fast, like a shadow given life, and it took Jacob’s remains back into the attic clutched in it's jaws. The officers… they swear it was some kind of demon.”
He rubbed his face, tears slipping down his cheeks. “No one believes them. No one believes us. But now, with Stimble gone… that thing has no one to control it. No one to feed it.”
Aunt Meredith stood up, shaking. “You’re going home,” she said to me, her voice trembling, exerting what little control she had over the situation. “First thing in the morning.”
I didn’t argue. I could feel the terror in the air, the way it pressed down on us. They put me on the first bus out, and I never went back. Aunt Meredith and Uncle Cole moved soon after, leaving without a trace, just like they had promised.
So, if you ever find yourself in northern Pennsylvania, and see a house with cream-colored siding and faded purple shutters… keep driving. Don’t look back. Whatever’s in that attic is still there, waiting. The caretaker is gone now.
And it’s hungry.