The basement was cold and damp, the air thick and stale. He stood there, towering, his head nearly brushing the ceiling. His features were long and slender, limbs stretched unnaturally. His arms hung low, fingers almost grazing his knees. His legs, thin and bone-like, made him stand at an impossible 12 feet tall.
His mouth stretched wide — too wide — an unnatural stretched mouth that revealed nothing but a black void inside. His eyes, deep and hollow, were pits of endless darkness, a void that seemed to pull everything in.
I don't remember how it got there or how it even got inside. All I know is I locked it deep in my basement where it couldn’t come out.
Well, that was until I found the basement door wide open.
"Hello," I said, staring into the dark basement that yawned open before me. My voice felt small, swallowed by the shadows below.
Fear crawled up my throat, thick and sour, like I might throw it up. I slammed the door shut, my hands shaking.
Then I heard it — soft, rattling noises from the kitchen. Gentle, deliberate, like something was moving in there.
Something was in the house with me.
I moved deliberately, each step slow and careful, my breath caught in my throat. I watched my surroundings, making no noise as I crept toward the kitchen.
And then I saw it.
The creature from my basement stood at the sink, its towering frame hunched awkwardly beneath the ceiling. It stared out the window, motionless, its long, slender limbs hanging at its sides.
It didn’t move. It didn’t make a sound. It just stood there, like it belonged.
My heart slammed against my ribs as I bolted for the front door, feet barely touching the ground. I didn’t dare look back — I didn’t need to.
The roar came first, splitting the air like a thunderclap. It wasn’t human. It wasn’t animal. It was deep, raw, and wrong, vibrating through my bones, rattling my teeth. My legs nearly gave out from the sound alone, but fear shoved me forward.
I hit the door hard, bursting into the cold night air. My car was just ahead, parked in the driveway. My keys — I needed my keys. My hand dove into my pocket, fingers trembling as I fumbled them out.
Behind me, the door exploded open with a splintering crack. Heavy, unnatural footsteps pounded against the ground, fast — too fast. I didn’t have to see it to know it was coming. I could feel it closing the distance.
I reached the car, yanked the door open, and threw myself inside. My hands shook so badly the keys slipped from my fingers and hit the floor mat.
“No, no, no—”
I grabbed them again, forcing the key into the ignition. The engine sputtered, coughed — the sound of death.
The creature lunged from the doorway, its long, bony limbs propelling it forward in a blur of twisted movement. It was nearly to the car.
The engine roared to life.
I slammed the gear into reverse, tires squealing as I stomped the gas. The car jolted backward, throwing me against the seat as the creature lunged, just barely missing the hood. Its empty black eyes locked onto mine for a split second, burning into me before I peeled out of the driveway.
I didn’t stop. My foot stayed pressed to the floor, the car flying down the long, dark street. The night swallowed everything around me, but I didn’t care where I was going — as long as it wasn’t back there.
Days passed. I barely slept, holed up in a cheap hotel on the edge of town. The room smelled like old cigarettes and stale air, but it didn’t matter. It had four walls and a locked door.
Every night, I checked the window — just to be sure.
That night was no different. I pulled back the curtain, heart already racing before I even looked. The parking lot below was empty, streetlights flickering weakly against the dark. For a second, I let myself believe I was safe.
Then I saw it.
Beyond the lot, past the stretch of cracked asphalt and the rusted chain-link fence, the woods began — thick, black trees rising like jagged teeth. And there, just at the edge where the trees met the night, it stood.
The tall, twisted figure.
It didn’t move. It didn’t blink. It only stared, watching me from the shadows.
It found me.
In an instant, I yanked the curtains shut, heart slamming against my ribs. My breath came in quick, shaky bursts. I sprinted to the door, peering through the peephole — nothing. The hallway outside was empty, still and quiet.
I didn’t know how fast it was. I didn’t know how smart it was. But it found me.
Hours crawled by. The TV droned on in the background, some late-night sitcom I wasn’t paying attention to. I kept glancing at the window, half-expecting to see it again.
Then came the knock.
It wasn’t loud, just a soft, deliberate tapping. My head snapped toward the door, dread sinking like a cold weight in my chest.
Who the hell could that be?
I slid off the bed, feet hitting the floor. Before I reached the door, I heard it — a voice.
"Hello... I need help. Help me. Help me... I need help. Help me."
It didn’t sound right. It was flat, robotic, like a bad recording played over and over. No emotion. No urgency.
I froze. My throat tightened.
"If you don’t leave right now, I’m calling the police!" I shouted, voice trembling.
The voice didn’t stop.
"Help me. I need help. Open the door. Open the door. Open the door."
It wasn’t even yelling — just that same lifeless, droning tone. That was the worst part. The calmness. Like it wasn’t asking. Like it was telling.
My hands fumbled for my phone. I dialed 911, fingers shaking so hard I almost hit the wrong numbers.
The voice stopped.
My stomach twisted. It was like it knew.
The operator answered. I explained everything — the voice, the knocking, the thing in the woods. My words tumbled out fast, frantic.
“We’ll send someone,” they said. “But it might take a few hours.”
A few hours.
My heart sank. My hand shook so badly the phone nearly slipped from my ear.
I didn’t hang up. I didn’t move.
I just stared at the door, waiting.
Out of fear, I asked, “Could you… could you just stay on the line until they come? I don’t want to be alone.”
At first, she hesitated. “I’m sorry, sir. We can’t do that. We have to answer other calls—”
“Please,” I cut in, my voice trembling. “Please. I—I don’t think I’ll make it if I’m alone.”
There was a pause. I could hear her breathing on the other end. Then, quietly, she said, “Okay. I’ll stay.”
Relief washed over me, but it didn’t chase the fear away. My eyes stayed locked on the door.
Her voice was calm, gentle. “My name’s Rachel. What’s your name?”
I swallowed hard. “It’s... it’s James.”
“Alright, James. I’m here with you. You’re not alone.”
My throat tightened. “Thank you. I… I think it’s still out there.”
“Can you still hear the voice?” she asked softly.
I shook my head, even though she couldn’t see me. “No. It stopped when I called you. But… the way it sounded—” I paused, shuddering at the memory. “It wasn’t normal. It was like… robotic. Repeating itself over and over.”
Rachel was quiet for a moment, then said, “You’re doing great, James. Just stay with me. The officers are on their way.”
I nodded again, trying to steady my breathing. But deep down, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the quiet wasn’t a good thing.
It felt like the calm before something worse.
Rachel’s voice came through the phone again, steady but a little more serious.
“James… who’s chasing you? Can you describe them?”
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. My throat felt tight, like the words got stuck halfway up.
“I… I don’t know,” I said finally. It wasn’t a lie — not really. “It’s tall. Really tall. Its arms are… too long. Its mouth…” My voice trailed off. My mind replayed that black void, the hollow eyes. My stomach twisted.
“Too long?” Rachel asked gently. “James, are you saying it’s someone wearing a mask or—”
“No,” I cut in, my voice cracking. “It’s not a mask. It’s not… human.”
The line went quiet for a moment. I heard her breathe in.
“James,” she said slowly, carefully, “are you sure? Could it be someone in a costume, maybe? Sometimes, when we’re scared, our minds—”
“I know what I saw!” I snapped, louder than I meant to. My voice echoed off the hotel walls, and I flinched at how desperate I sounded.
Rachel didn’t react. She stayed calm. “Okay. I believe you. You’re doing great, James. Just stay with me, alright? The officers are still on their way.”
My chest felt tight, like I couldn’t get a full breath. My eyes stayed locked on the door.
I couldn’t tell her the truth — not all of it. If I said a monster crawled out of my basement and followed me to a hotel, they’d think I lost my mind. Maybe I had.
But the thing outside? The voice? It wasn’t in my head.
It was real.
And it wasn’t gone.
An hour passed in what felt like seconds. The room was still, but I couldn’t escape the feeling that something was wrong. My pulse thudded in my ears, every breath a battle against the rising panic. Rachel’s voice kept me tethered to reality, her calm words a thread I clung to.
Then, suddenly, a knock at the door.
Knock Knock
I froze. The hairs on my neck stood up.
“Hello, this is the police. Open the door. This is the police. Open the door.”
A wave of relief flooded through me. I wasn’t alone. Finally. The officers were here.
I rushed to the door, heart pounding in my chest. I glanced at my phone to make sure I hadn’t missed anything, and there it was — the call still connected, Rachel’s voice as steady as ever.
“James, stay calm. They’re on their way.”
I could hear the muffled voice of the “officer” outside, repeating the same line. The door was within reach. I grabbed the handle, yanked it open, ready to let in the safety of the police.
But there it stood.
The creature.
It towered, its limbs unnaturally long, bent in sickening angles. Its black, empty eyes locked onto mine. The grin that stretched across its face was wide and chilling — too wide.
I looked down at my phone in my trembling hands. The screen read:
“911. What’s your emergency?”
A smile twisted across the creature’s face. It wasn’t the officer. It never was.
I staggered back, my blood running cold. My stomach dropped into a pit of icy dread.
And then it hit me. Rachel never asked for my location.
I had never been on the phone with the police.
I had been talking to it. God help me.
