An Unexpected Guest

Originally posted on /r/nosleep.

A year ago, I went to visit an old friend of mine from college named Chris. He lives in Connecticut with his wife Susan and their son Todd. The plan was for us to hang out for a few days, so they had promised to prepare a guest room for me.

When I arrived, Chris took me aside.

“I know we promised you the guest room,” he said quietly, “but something’s come up. Susan’s Uncle John just got divorced and she offered him a place to stay until he can find an apartment. He won’t be in our way, but I had to let him have the guest room.”

“No problem,” I said, “where am I sleeping then?”
“It’s going to sound creepy, but I’ve set you up in the attic. There’s a small room up there which we’re planning to turn into a play room for when Todd’s older. It’s got a futon that turns into a bed. You just have to watch your step coming down the stairs at night if you do that.”

I shrugged. “That sounds fine with me.”

The Room With Too Many Shadows

It was my friend Tommy's 11th birthday and my first sleepover. My mom dropped me off at his house in the afternoon. It looked modest from the front, but when Tommy led me inside, I discovered that it was actually fairly big, with at least five large rooms on the first floor alone.

"My mom set us up in the basement." He said, leading the way to a small door just off the kitchen pantry.

I envisioned a dingy cellar like the one my family had. Ours was a single, tiny room that looked like miners were still in the process of digging it out. Nobody spent the night in our basement unless they had eight legs and six eyes and shot webbing out of their ass.

Tommy's basement was like a whole other house. There was a small room with a couch at the bottom of the stairs, but in the far wall was a swinging door leading into a kitchen almost as big as the one we had just left. In the basement kitchen there was another door leading out to the back yard, and a long hallway that extended deep under the house.

"Jesus," was all I could muster.

"The basement was set up as an apartment to rent out by the people who lived here before us." Tommy explained. He pointed down the dim hallway. "The first door on the left is the bathroom. Second door is a closet. We'll be sleeping in the bedroom on the right."

"What's the door at the end?" I asked.

Bedtime Stories

I was tucking my daughter into bed one night last week. Normally, she’s a huge hassle to make go to bed, but that night she seemed actually *eager* to go to sleep. I sat down in the chair beside her bed and asked her what story she wanted me to read. She smiled at me, but didn’t say anything.

“Smiley Shark?” I asked.

“No.”

“I Can Read With My Eyes Shut?”

“No…”

“Well what *would* you like me to read?”

“I wanna tell a story tonight!” she exclaimed with an enthusiasm I was unused to.

We Don't Talk About Sarah

The original story can be found here.

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I always wanted a little sister...

I always wanted a little sister. I would beg my parents, "Please? Pleeeeaasssee?" and they'd roll their eyes and tell me that it wasn't as simple as I thought. That didn't stop me from talking about it every chance I got though.

When they brought Sarah home, it was the happiest day of my life. She was so cute! I couldn't wait to share my toys with her. I started going through them, deciding which ones were hers and which ones were mine. I borrowed my daddy's label maker and started putting our names on each thing so we wouldn't get them confused.

The Canister

I was 9, going on 10 years old. We lived in a small town in Vermont, in a large, green house at the crest of a steep hill. Up the street from us, the road ended at a large forest. My brothers and I would walk up there and play in the shelter of the thick tree branches. None of the trees were suitable for climbing, but enough had fallen over that we could build makeshift forts from their remains. We’d explore the pine-needle carpet for bugs, whack through the ferns with sticks like explorers, or just play hide and seek in the dense thickets.

Just beyond the edge of the forest at the top of the hill, there was a little stream. Beside the stream was the burnt-out skeleton of an old house. We had been told that the property belonged to somebody, so stay off, but on occasion we felt brave enough to explore the wreckage and find buried treasure.