Night Creeps

Others Stories | Dec 1, 2012 | 6 min read
28 Votes, average: 4 out of 5
The house was settled after the violent murder of old lady Rothschild, 88 years old. The house was boarded over last spring just six days after she was laid to rest(?) in Our Christ Savor Cemetery. It was one year today that old lady Rothschild phone her eldest daughter Ruth with concerns that a stranger had gotten into the cellar and was now living there. "Mother really, did Uncle George put you up to this?" Lynn Rothschild did not sound as if she were in a merry making mood. "For god sake Ruth I'm telling you I hear things… at night mostly but sometimes during the day. I've had to nail the basement door closed with the help of that young man who runs errands to the store for me. Along with some of the heating vents. "Her daughter laughed full heatedly. "Oh mom, you're funnier than Lucille Ball. Did you (laughing hysterically) actually nail the heating vents closed?" Lynn paused, she didn't realize her daughter would have a difficult time accepting what her mother told her - it never entered her mind that her only child might doubt her.

There was a long pause. Than a shaky voice quite manly spoke into the receiver. "God is watching you." Old lady Rothschild dropped the phone and moved her wheel chair back away from it. "Dear Jesus protect me." She proceeded to bless herself while holding on to her blessed mother medal she had worn around her delicate neck since her youth. A gift from her own mother rich in heritage. "Hello? Hello mom? Can you hear me?" Ruth spoke with concern into her end of the phone. Meanwhile old lady Rothschild rolled her chair forward as the boards underneath her wheels begun to squeak and snap.
Lynn made her way slowly back toward the phone gently reaching down to lift it against her ear. There she listened for her child's voice. "Mom?" Ruth said. "Oh Ruthie, my god Ruth did you hear him that time? See I'm not feeble for Christ sake. I told you, I told you he was watching… watching my every move." Lynn Rothschild paused at her daughter's resistance. "Mom. MOM! MOTHER! I didn't hear anything now what are you talking about? Who is there with you? You said 'HIM'. Him who?" Lynn just knew her daughter didn't believe her she felt so disheartened.
"Ruth are you telling me you never heard a man's voice on this line? Just now - with you and I speaking." Ruth paused dropping her arm with the phone down to her side. She knew the day would come when her mother's early stroke would start making her hear things the doctors warned she would become more brittle. Ruth didn't realize it would come so unexpected. "Mom." She said into the receiver lifting her hand back to her ear. "I want you to listen to me. You are alone in that big house. Why don't you come and stay here with Stephen and the kids and me… we'd love to have you!"

Ruth's offer fell on deaf ears. Lynn's attention was pulled away from her conversation when an odd creaking sound begun rolling under the floorboards beneath her. A loud snapping sound which echoed made Old lady Rothschild unnerved. She feared the old floor might give way crashing her down inside the basement with whatever - whomever was down there. "Stop it! You quit making those sounds! I'm not afraid of you! You get your ass out of my house, do you hear me? SCAT!" She hung the receiver back on the cradle. And slowly rolled her chair about the bare wooden floors throughout the living room. She moved like a snail over a landmine. Than, a great force crashed upward against the floorboards.

"BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!" Enough power within it to jolt her chair forward a few inches. Than the worse squeaking she had ever heard followed as if each and every small nail were being extracted from the floor boards around the room. "Stop it! STOP IT!" She cried. But three more violent crashes landed dead center under her chair even while she rolled back away from it, the pounding seemed to follow. "BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!" Mrs. Rothschild rolled her way back into a dark corner just to the right of the old grandfather clock which stood in the main hall. There she tucked herself into a tight nook and prayed to her Faith something she had done since she was a very young girl. The hours ticked by when Old lady Rothschild reopened her eyes the house was pitch dark - her eyes could only make out shadows. She saw someone - a man? Creeping past her dining room bay windows. Someone had gotten into her garden. He crept around to the front of the home where the door knob begun twisting, left than right. She covered her mouth in order to hold back her terrifying shrieks. Where was the house boy Peter? He had come every Wednesday to carry groceries and play 500 Rummy. He would stay until almost five but not today.

Rothschild's eyes were as huge has silver dollars - her hand held tightly over her lips so firm in fact that her lips ached. The person outside begun to through their weight into the door forcibly. "Who… Who…?" She couldn't mutter a word. He begun kicking the door angrily banging on the thick stained glass inserts only hope held them from bursting. Her nerves rattled her hands cold and numb - her mind spun a million horrible deaths that might befall her this night. She sat in the dark clutching her blessed metal. Than suddenly, the noise stopped. The next thing she noticed was that awful squeaking sound again. "Oh mother of god now what?" The clock in the main hall struck the 5:00AM hour. She all but jumped out of her skin and if her legs were functional and she were 30 yrs younger she would have run from that house and never returned. The bewitching hours which began at midnight were almost ended. "Dear mother keep me safe till dawn and I shall leave this house and go and live with Ruth."
That horrible squeaking and snapping sound almost resembled nails being plucked from Dracula's coffin. She slowly rolled her chair out from that dark corner at the bottom of the stairs. She peered nervously around the dining room - windows shut shades drawn not so much as an owl's hoot or a mouse's fart. "The kitchen? Up the stairs?" Her nervous fingers danced across her lips her eyes wondered about the ceiling and floors. Where was that awful bone piercing squealing emulating from? She rolled her chair into the kitchen area with great apprehension.

Everything seemed quite. The moonlight glowed pleasantly across her cabinets, dish rack on the side board of the sink with her white tea cup with the periwinkle pattern. All seemed peaceful enough. She could see the ice box and the magnets which she had placed there those which held pictures of her grand children, funny snap shots of her trips to Venice, the sea shore in Jersey, the bowling tournament she won ten years ago. But as her eyes searched further along the dark shadows she found to her dismay the basement door swaying to and fro.
Hundreds of tiny nails had been extracted tapping almost silently to the tiled floor. "The squeaking sound made sense now. She rolled closer and her eyes grew more huge with fright as they searched the doorway. "Who in god's name…" She said wrinkled fingers danced across her jittery bottom lip, when suddenly something from behind her brought a heavy object down atop her head. The pain was ungodly as was the beast who held the heavy axe above her brow. It landed in her skull in the center of her head, the jolt of pain - the shock of it rode down her spine like a cold bucket of ice water being dumped over her head. She barely had enough wind left inside her lungs to explode with anguish. The terrible warm blood rushed over her forehead down into her eyes stinging them, burning them closed. She heard screams her own voice in fact, but they could not rise above her own lips. Inside she was screaming - but outside she became as still and silent as a tiny sparrow one that had smashed into her green house windows over the years.
Her head had split a four inch opened gash from the crown of her head to her forehead down between her perfectly arched brows. Than her chair was rushed toward with intense force making its way toward the darkened stairwell inside the cellar area. Her chair was soon hurled down into the devils pitch, where whatever came up those steps moments beforehand, whatever tapped the floorboards so unnervingly, whatever spoke to her into the phone - now had her soul. The basement door slammed closed with such energy the wood cracked down the center of the wood. Mrs. Rothschild was buried two days later seemingly from an accident. Another old lady who's wheel chair flipped over a flight of stairs sending her to her untimely death. No one would ever suspect Night Creeps, would they?

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