This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.
The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Sorry-Draft-7183 on 2024-11-11 01:55:04+00:00.
I (21m) stumbled across here a couple weeks ago and have been reading lots of the posts. I thought I would share a story that happened about a year ago that has changed how I view living alone.
At the time I lived at my parents’ house because the cost of living was so expensive. I was a university student working casual jobs and couldn’t afford to move out. One day, my parents left to go on a business trip in France and decided to make a family vacation out of it. It was in the middle of exam period so I couldn’t go, but they took my four siblings. I was ecstatic since I could have the whole house to myself.
They left early Monday morning. I looked forward to being “the man of the house” for the upcoming week. Everything was great until around 7pm the next night. I was driving back home on a long, dimly lit road leading towards my street. Suddenly, I spotted a bald, shirtless man walking alongside the street carrying a shovel. Even though I saw him momentarily, his figure is etched in my brain. He was as pale as the moon and his eyes were lifeless and empty. We live in a suburban area, far from any farmland, I couldn’t imagine what someone would need a shovel for at this time of night.
I kept driving. Checking no one had followed me, I drove into the garage and closed the door. “Of course no one followed me,” I chuckled to myself as I went about making dinner.
By the next day, I had convinced myself that he might have just been lost or had dementia or something. Having three looming exams around the corner helped me forget about the man. I studied at home that day, which meant I got to practice a new prelude for piano, as I studied music theory. I studied hard, only to stop for food and the occasional YouTube video until I noticed the time, 7:34pm. “Damn it,” I muttered as I realised that I had forgot to bring my washing in. It would have to go in the dryer now. I grabbed a basket and went outside, soaking in the soft night sounds of crickets and rustles in the leaves.
Suddenly, I heard movement down my driveway. Moving quietly, I tentatively approached the end of the driveway, outlined by a perimeter of bushes. “Hey, who’s there?’ I asked nervously. No answer. As I waited near the bushes, I braced myself for a shovel to come towards my face. There was only more rustle of leaves, then silence. I stood there for what felt like hours, waiting for someone to appear. But no one did. Returning to the clothes lines, I grabbed the basket and went back inside, ensuring the door was locked behind me.
It was now Wednesday, and I was more than just a bit nervous. I checked that every window and door were locked several times before leaving for university. I couldn’t focus in class, I was still thinking about the man I saw on Monday night. When I arrived home, I took out a packet of two-minute noodles and watched Breaking Bad. We live in a bigger house, which unfortunately means it creaks a lot more on its own when no one is making any noise.
The house is equipped with a motion detecting system, but I don’t trust its accuracy, so I did laps throughout the house whenever I heard a creak that was a bit too loud. Every time I walked past the windows outlooking our backyard, I expected to see that pale face pushed up against the window looking inside. I wanted to call the police to just ask them to drive around my street and see if anyone was lurking, but I felt embarrassed for getting so worked up over no physical evidence. I decided against calling the police and shortly went to bed, accompanied by nothing but the howling wind outside.
It was now Thursday, which meant another day of practicing at home. Having finished my practice at around 8pm, I got up to make myself a sandwich. As I gathered the cheese, ham and lettuce for my sandwich, I paused to remember what I needed for school tomorrow. That’s when I heard it, a singular high-pitched piano note echo throughout the house. The blood drained from my face as I looked down the stairs of our home. I froze in fear, unable to move a muscle. Slowly, I turned and saw the motion detector panel. It consisted of six lights, one for each room a sensor was in. I saw the lights for Room 2, which was where I was, and Room 6, which was where the piano was. They were flashing. All I could do was watch as the light for Room 6 turned off and subsequently the light for Room 5 began flashing. It was then when I could hear running down the hallway.
Grabbing the knife on the bench, I ran for one of the bedrooms and lay underneath the bed. I could hear someone running up the stairs as I lay there. Walking around the kitchen table, they tapped their fingers on the bench. Holding my breath, I waited as he approached the bedroom I was hiding in. He entered the room, but all I could see were his legs. He stood there silently, peered into the closet, then turned and left.
Now was my chance, I left the bedroom quietly, clutching at the knife. I crept down the stairs slowly. However, as I reached the bottom stair, a soft creak left the floorboards. I ran towards the front door, reaching for the keys that hung next to it. I could hear him coming as I tried to unlock the door. Once I flung the door open, I ran towards the end of the driveway, screaming for help.
The police were shortly called but couldn’t find anyone in the house or in the nearby area. After giving the neighbours the description of the man I saw on Monday, I was told that the description sounded like someone who used to live a couple of streets away, however he had gone missing six months ago. For the rest of the week, police patrolled my street for the next few days but didn’t find anything.
But to this day, the image of the man walking down my street is permanently stuck in my head. I’ve since moved out into my own place, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t check the house carefully every time I come home late at night.