Cracks by Lorenzo Moscato - a fictional short story
My story begins a little over 30 years ago. I was just a kid, living with my parents. Life was easy for my family and I. We weren't rich, but because my dad worked so hard, we were able to afford some luxuries, we were able to eat out, you know...the simple things a family does. My family was also very close with my aunts and uncles, so I always had them around the house. It also helped that we all lived on the same street for a while. My cousins and I became very close, we always hung out. It was a great time to be a kid.
As my mom became pregnant with my brother, and my dad had gotten to a point in his job where he was making more money, we decided we needed a new home. My dad had purchased the lot next to my grandfather's home, and went to work to build our house. It was a great place, and I have tons of fond memories of it. Except...for this one thing.
One year, when I was about 12, my family decided we'd go to the beach for summer vacation. We left our home in the loving care of my aunt, my sister had been a baby at this time, my brother a little older, and we had a fantastic time playing in the ocean, going on rides at the boardwalk, eating funnel cake and buckets of fries! Seriously, this place sold BUCKETS of french fries! It was a kid's paradise! When we finally got home, my brother ran in ahead of me, trying to get to the basement as fast as he could because that's where our dad had setup a playroom of sorts for he and I. My old Nintendo Entertainment System was down there, and he was always trying to get on it before me so he could be player 1. We're both adults now, and even to this day we argue over who would be the first player.
As soon as he hit the landing at the bottom of the stairs, we heard a bloodcurdling scream as he came running right back up and to my mom. He was shouting, "there's a man staring at me through the cracks!!!" My dad, thinking someone had broken in, ran down the stairs carrying a bat and checked out the basement. The basement itself had windows that were big enough for someone to crawl through if they had been broken or left open, so he was worried we had an intruder. He came back up, looked at my brother like he was crazy, and reported that there was no one down there. My brother stated he had seen someone peeking through the crack in the door to the laundry room at him. This obviously scared me, our basement was a nice place, a refuge of sorts for us, but there were certain areas even I, almost a teenager (and even somewhat to this day) am kind of scared of. My parents brushed it off as an overactive imagination, and went about bringing the things in from our trip and tending to my little sister's needs. My brother refuses to even admit it ever happened, possibly due to being embarrassed by it. But our mom did have a priest over the very next day to bless the house, so I guess she sort of believed him. Maybe she did it to put us at ease? I'm not sure.
We fast forward to a few years later. I'm about 20 at this point, my brother and sister are either in college or graduating high school. I'm working full time. I've got great friends. Life is pretty good. I came home from a friend's house really late...I think it was about 2 AM since the trains had stopped running and I had to take a bus. My usual routine was to watch movies on my laptop when I got home because I worked night shifts and always had a hard time getting to sleep. I'd sit, watch a random movie, and then head to bed. So I was sitting at the kitchen table as I always did, my entire family was asleep, and I could swear I heard something from the basement. The door was closed and I immediately thought our cat was trying to get down there where we kept his litter box and food. So I stopped watching the movie, turned on the lights and went to open the basement door. The cat wasn't there. I could've sworn I had heard scratching. As I closed the basement door...I could swear I saw a pair of...eyes...staring at me through the cracks in the stairs. I brushed it off and shut the door quickly. I thought I was imagining things. It was late, I had been watching a scary movie, all these factors probably lead to an overactive imagination. So I turned out the lights and went to bed.
That night, I couldn't sleep. I kept seeing those bloodshot eyes from under the stairs. I sat up and turned on my light. Sighing, I decided to just go down and check it out for myself, maybe to get peace of mind, put myself at ease. I opened the basement door and turned on the light, making sure there was no one peeking through the cracks in the steps. I didn't see anything, but thought to go down all the way to make sure. I kept going, came to the bottom landing, and looked around the short hallway. No one was there. I checked under the stairs themselves, nothing. Entered the old play room which my dad had turned into his office, nothing. I laughed at myself for being so stupid. "Really?" I had said aloud. Then...I heard it again. That scratching noise...and it was coming from the closed door to the laundry room.
I froze in my tracks...I instantly remembered what my brother had seen when we were kids. After a few seconds, I gathered up my courage and walked to the laundry room, opening the door quickly and stepping in, turning on the lights. Nothing was there. Our laundry room has a storage room at the far end of it, so I approached the door and pressed my ear against it. A loud bang came from the door that made me jump back, as if someone had slammed their fist against it. A second, and third bang came from the door, each louder than the last. I quickly latched the door to make sure it was locked and backed up, bumping into my brother. He heard the noise and had come running down to make sure no one was hurt. He heard the banging, looked up at me and said, "Now do you believe me...?" We both approached the door to the storage room together. I reached for the latch and unlocked it. I looked at him and nodded as he grabbed a baseball bat. I swung open the door quickly and...nothing. It was empty aside from the extra stuff my parents kept in there, like building supplies or old clothes they had put away for the season. A sigh of relief escaped my throat and I started closing the door. My brother screamed and pointed at the crack in the door as it shut. We could clearly see a pair of bloodshot eyes staring back at us...a disgusting, fanged grin on the face of what was watching us... I slammed it shut and latched it locked. We both ran from the basement and never spoke of what we saw again...
Recently, I've been hearing scratching coming from a door to a hallway closet in my house. My wife tells me it's just the wind or something. But I know to keep that door locked...sealed...never to be opened. Something is trying to come through to our reality. Something dark, something hungry, something...not human. My brother, who had to move back home with my parents, told me he no longer goes in the basement...but he's seen the eyes and that smile in other parts of the house now...And it lives in the cracks of our reality...
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