There’s Something That Haunts My Hometown, And I’m Terrified What Will Happen If They Ever Find Me

Like I said, I never saw Them. But I heard Them. On those hellish noisy nights, when They chose our home to haunt, They’d remind us that the danger was very real. We would hold our breaths, hearing Them try every lock, looking for the one we’d forgotten. They were as meticulous in Their attempted invasion of our home as my parents were in its defense. They would turn the handles, pull them, make the door shudder as They grew frustrated. They would try to open the windows, making them creak in their frames. Sometimes – and god, those were the worst of all, it would make me hug my grandma tight and weep on her shoulder as she wept on mine, even long after I could be considered a child – sometimes they tried the chimney.

In the complete silence of our living room, we would hear a sound; a very subtle rasping sound, like fingernails sliding down the wall. Then the clicks would start. We’d hear them, very deliberate clicks on the other side of that steel plate, like an impatient boss tapping his shoe. My father would grab his shotgun, and my grandpa, or sometimes my mother would take the rifle and they would aim it at the fireplace. They shook so badly I doubt they could have hit anything.

While They were there, clicking behind the plate, we would feel the wrongness more than ever. The room seemed darker at once. Sometimes I swear it was like one of the oil lamps went out. What light there was felt blueish again. God forbid someone had used the bucket – the smell grew so intense, it was more like gasoline than piss.