This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.
The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Latter-Locksmith-483 on 2024-11-21 06:45:18+00:00.
To be clear, it's not a phobia. A phobia is an irrational fear, after all - and my fear is very fucking rational indeed.
I was homeless. By choice, actually - lived that way for a few years. I juggle, just something I picked up as a kid, and believe it or not, that's enough to keep you fed and then some. An hour or two in front of a red light, and you're done. I liked my life, the freedom of it. I had a bit of money saved back, in case of bad weather, but most days I would work a couple hours and have the rest of the day to myself. But as agreeable as I found this lifestyle, finding a warm, semi safe place to sleep was easier said than done.
So I thought to myself, "why not look for an abandoned house to squat in?" A lot of people who can't pay rent (or don't want to) do exactly that, my state has laws that protect us. So I went to a hardware store, and I bought a padlock, as well as a couple other things. My plan was to find a place where nobody else was staying yet, slap a lock on the door so I don't have to share my space, and live it up rent free in some neglected dump. That's how I found my way to 3494, Lucky Fern Road. The place was abandoned for sure - that first night, I found the door was already unlocked, and the place was... mostly clean. Oh sure, there was dust everywhere, but that's to be expected.
I made my way into the kitchen - I figured if there was any food laying around that was out of date, that would confirm that this place is TRULY abandoned. As I opened the fridge, I was greeted with an absolutely vile odor - the walls inside, covered with mold, and a rotten glob of what used to be meat sat on a tray in the middle shelf. I took a moment to collect myself and recover from the waves of nausea, before making my way up to the bedroom.
It was mostly empty, although a dresser had been left behind - I dumped my few but precious possessions into one of the drawers, and turned my attention to the padlock, and the length of chain I'd purchased with it. The front door already had a bolt on it, which was fortunate, but the back door didn't seem to have any sort of locking mechanism at all. A bit odd, a distinct security risk at the very least. I recoiled, pulling my hand back as I touched the doorknob - it was hot, almost felt as if it nearly burned me in that brief instant. I tentatively poked it a moment later... cool. Normal. At the time, I wrote it off as some weird nerve thing in my head. Either way, I made my way upstairs - it was late, and I needed sleep. The bedroom door has a working lock, so I knew at least I'd be safe in here, even if a likeminded but less peaceful squatter saw fit to come around thr back and break in.
When I woke up, I was greeted by scorching, unbearable heat. This was early October - so naturally, I was highly confused. When I looked out the window... a cold, hard ball of fear formed in my gut. The other houses on the street were fucking demolished, they were in shambles - ruins, even. The sky was a dark, heavy grey, but it didn't look like rain, it just looked... dead. There was no sound, and very little light, and just as I was about to open the bedroom door to investigate further, I stopped. Every instinct was ablaze, and as I stepped back, the wooden floor creaked a bit under my weight. I felt like I was falling, as paralyzing terror gripped me, seemingly without rhyme nor reason.
Then, footsteps. Fast, very fast, something running. The doorknob rattled, as somebody on the other side tried to twist it open to no avail. Rattling gave way to loud slamming, and I started to think that whoever was on the other side wanted to break down the door. I grabbed the chain, and with trembling hands I snapped the padlock onto one end. I turned to the door, anxiously waiting for the rattling and slamming to stop, or for whatever psycho was on the other side to break through so I could brain them. And after a couple agonizingly long minutes, the noise did stop. It was replaced with the sound of a blaring siren from outside.
I heard the person on the other side of the door scramble, running away now, as the siren wailed outside. The grey sky, the dilapidated houses, even the street, had taken on a reddish hue, a crimson saturation permeating as far as I could see. And as it did, I saw somebody stumble out of one of the ruined neighboring houses. They were holding something in their hands - a baseball bat, I think. They looked to something I could not see, down the street - I'd have to open the window to get a good look. Instead, I watched him drop his weapon, drop to his knees... and start sobbing. His hand rose to his face, and slowly, he drove his thumbs into his own eyes. His screams were of pain, but somehow I instinctively knew this was an act of grief. For what, I was unsure. I crouched down, my face in my hands - I was shaking in abject, animal terror, and as the siren wailed on, it too was joined, now by a wet, slipperly slithering sound. I resisted the temptation, I would not look. As I crouched under the window, for a brief moment, the light of the red sky went black, as something very fucking large began to pass by. It halted, and I wanted to vomit or cry or do SOMETHING, but I stayed small, quiet, and hidden. And I waited... and I waited some more. The slithering resumed, and soon the dim red light returned.
When it did, I let out a shaky sigh of relief. What I did not know, at the time, is that I would be stuck here for just under 48 hours. The siren came back every few hours, and every time, I hid in silence, refusing to look. I had food and water, thanks to my lifestyle, stashed in the drawers, and although I'm not proud of it, I didn't even step out to use the restroom. Then, as I was eating a can of baked beans and starting to consider the possibility that the rest of my probably very short life might be spent in this room, I blinked, and the light changed. When I looked outside, the neighborhood was normal again. Blue sky, a bit cloudy, people in the road.
I got the fuck out of there, with the most absolute of haste. That was a couple years ago now. But one thing really stuck with me - my intuition. It's normally nothing special, but during those 48 hours, it was like my subconcious mind had a direct, one way line to my conscious brain. Everything seemed so clear - I knew, even without looking, that had I gazed upon whatever cast that behemoth shadow, I would meet a terrible fate. I knew, a moment before I heard it, that opening that bedroom door was a very bad idea. And when I walked out of that house, out of that neighborhood, and got a one way ticket out of that fucking city, I had this nagging, persistent notion. It was a trap. The house, it wasn't real, it was like a spider's web. I'm not homeless anymore. And I sure am glad of it. Because today I once again found myself in a strange part of town, for reasons irrelevant, and as I looked up at another abandoned house, nothing like the last, I instantly knew that this one was a trap, too. It's not just one, or two, or ten - they're everywhere. They look like forgotten, abandoned homes, down to dust and grime and even forgotten food in the kitchen. Unless you've been in one before, you can't possibly distinguish them from the real thing - and even then, there are no physical signs. All you have to go on is your gut instinct.