Three Different short story in English
I had a weird experience at my office today and I’d rather nobody make any type of connections while reading this. A 3 to 4 years back a short story in English: I work at a small scale production company that is one half of a single-story building (we share the other half with the rest of the family.)
My salary is based on commission so I’m mostly at the office working overtime, sometimes not getting out until 10 or 11 pm at night. The long hours sucks, but I make decent enough money, so I don’t mind it too much. I say this because last night was another late night. Everyone had already left early around 7, leaving just me and my one colleague’s cum friend. My friend and I started working there the same day and instantly hit it off – we kind of stuck together ever since for long. It makes the nights go by faster, so we try and interact our overtime hours so at least we have some company.
Around 10:45 pm we started ready up our things to leave, maybe head to the cafeteria and get a coffee and a bite to eat. On our way out the door, we heard a loud buzzing noise, almost like a ringing alarm, coming from the building’s basement. Three years of working in this building and the two of us have never heard that sound before. It was a continuous, ringing buzz – non-stop sounds. It almost sounded like a mechanical failure warning that you hear it big warehouses or something.
Really scary sound. Since my friend and I were the only two on lifting the building, we went downstairs just to check it out. We’ve both been in the basement a few times before, it seems anyone hardly using it. It’s very large, unfinished underground with a bunch of old computers, desks, chairs, and filing cabinets all over the place.
The company pretty much uses it as a storeroom but all the electrical/air condition units are down here, so maintenance guys are usually the only people that come down here. When we first heard the buzzing, that’s exactly what we thought the AC unit had broken down or failed. It’s been a hot summer and the two of us preferred not to come in on Monday with no AC. Not that we would have fixed it ourselves, but it’d be good to call in the problem early the next day just to be safe. We got down the basement and the buzzing noise was louder than ever. We headed to the back corner where the AC unit was.
Seemed to be fine, but we soon realized the buzzing noise was not coming from the unit. We walked around a bit more trying to pinpoint the location of the sound. It was super weird because at times it sounded like it was coming from inside the walls. We kept walking around but just couldn’t indicate it. Eventually, we made our way down a darker part of the underground where a bunch of old shelves and boxes are stored. It was an area of the basement I’ve never been there earlier, but it seemed like the sound was originating somewhere behind a rack of boxes.
We kept making our way back into the basement, moving a few boxes and shelves out of the way to make a path for us until we reached a dead end. At this point, we both had our phones out switching as flashlights since it was so dark in this corner. Like I said earlier, the underground is unfinished and hardly used, so none of the hanging bulbs in this corner were working. But we had located the source of the buzzing. Wherever it was coming from, it was in this back hallway. (This is how I narrating my short story in English.)
We kept pressing our ears to walls because again, the buzzing sound seemed to be coming from inside of them. My buddy then decided to move out some of the boxes and shelves against the far wall, to see if there was anything behind them. After shifting all the stuff out of the way and sliding the metal shelves aside, we shined our phones at the far wall and were dumped struck at what we saw. The buzzing noise was coming from a dumbwaiter. The door to the dumbwaiter was shut, but there was no denying what it was.
Next to the closed metal door was a panel with an up arrow and a down arrow. The lights for the buttons weren’t on or anything, so we assumed it wasn’t functioning. It didn’t strike us strange at first, because you know, it’s just a dumb waiter. But then we realized that there wasn’t a receiving door upstairs. Nowhere in our office upstairs was a storage closet or room that would house it. This thing didn’t go upstairs at all. So that’s what started to interest us. The thing about the elevator was that it had a down arrow.
We were in the basement. The bottom floor and already underground. Where the hell did this thing go? We were about to go back upstairs when my friend hit the “up” arrow. The buzzing stopped immediately. There was complete silence. He tried pressing it again, but nothing happened. Then he pressed the down arrow. We heard a mechanical whirring a few feet above us and then a quiet rumbling from deep within the walls. It sounded like the elevator was moving downwards.
After about 10 seconds, the rumbling stopped. We heard a muffled clang deep below our feet, which was probably the sound of the elevator reaching its destination. Next, we curiously open the safety doors of the elevator. Sure enough, there was nothing but concrete looking up the shaft. Looking down the shaft was a thin cable cord that led straight into darkness. We shut the bay doors and made our way back upstairs from the basement without saying a word to each other. There is something below my office basement.
And we have no idea how to get there. I won’t be back in the office until Monday, but my friend and I decided to stick my Phone into the elevator, start a video and, send it down, and see what it records. I narrated the short story in English here.
This is the scariest short story in english I’ve ever experienced myself a part of, and one that I like to tell people I meet at bars. Most of them laugh and don’t believe me, others were very curious and ask for every minute detail. But I’m telling you now that it’s true, and my roommates can feel it too. For a back few years, I went to college in one of the biggest, if not the biggest city in Kentucky. In-between the University and the hustle-and-bustle downtown area was what we called “Old Louisville”.
Old Louisville was composed of a mish-mash of beautifully decorated and completely unkempt historic homes with building dates ranging from the late 1800s and on. Many of the owners did a piss-poor job of remodelling the mansions so they were split into apartments of sorts. And in one of these mansions-converted apartments is where my story begins. I lived with two females and one male in a 3 bedroom, 2 story mansion. I shared a room with the male who, for the sake of anonymity, we’ll call Doe. The place was dirty, but you absolutely couldn‘t beat the price – $200/person including utilities and it was about a mile or so walk to campus.
The apartment must have been over 2,500 sqft- we had the biggest “apartment” in the house. There was a vacant apartment on the 3rd floor above us, and an apartment beside us on the 1st floor. I cannot preface this enough to you that the place was gigantic. When you first walk in through our huge front door, with two giant staircases with old wooden bannisters that led to the upstairs bedrooms and kitchen. One of the staircases led up to the vacant apartment above us, but it was sealed from the inside. On part of the landing of one staircase had a stained glass window.
This made more sense to me when I finally moved in because there were built-in pews on the first floor where our designated living room was. I’m guessing it served as a church at one point, which now that I think about it, makes everything a tad more creepy. I’m probably not describing the layout of this place the best, but it doesn’t really matter; the only relevant piece of information about the layout that pertains to this story is the staircase that led to our basement. When we first did a walk through with our landlord, we noticed that the staircase not only went up to our bedrooms but sunk into what we imagined was a basement.
At the time, we didn’t care to explore it, because there wasn’t a light that illuminated the dark passageway, and the stairs were full of paint cans and other miscellaneous home-improvement type do-dads. We figured he would move all his stuff when we got the keys, but after living there for a month, he never came for his possessions and we all forgot it even existed. Until one night we got drunk and played hidden seek. I should make note that Doe, one of the girls, and I all worked the same graveyard shift at the same warehouse in Louisville.
If you’re from the area, you know the warehouse I’m talking about because nearly 80% of its employees are university students. But that’s not the point. The point is that we came home late every night – usually around 4 or 5 in the morning. During the week when we worked, our 4th roommate told us she never felt safe alone in that big of a house, so she practically lived with her boyfriend. This means that between the hours of 12 and 5, nobody was in our apartment during the week. Or so I thought.
A few weeks into living at our new home, things in our apartment started to vanish. Not normal things though, like socks or clothes or food. Our cleaning supplies would go missing. Our bowls, spoons, and even entire brand new bags of unopened toilet paper rolls would simply disappear. We didn’t know what to make of it. We laughed about it at first, but after the third week or so, it turned in to more nervous laughter, and I would say our friends found us to be a little more paranoid and uneasy when they came to visit us on the weekends. Things just didn’t FEEL right in our own home. I can’t explain it.
The best I can put the feeling in a short story in English into words is that when you’re asleep, you have this unconscious feeling, even in your dreams, that someone is walking around in your home. Someone that you didn’t invite. So one weekend we invite a decent amount of people to our house for a party. By midnight, everyone was properly drunk, and I, in my infinite wisdom, decided it would be a fantastic idea to play hide n’ seek. Everyone happily obliged, and one of our buddies volunteered to be the seeker.
I rushed around the bedrooms and hallways turning off every light I could find, and then repeated the motions on our first floor. I had turned every light off in our home when I turned and realized there was still a light shining in the back staircase – the one that led to our basement. By this point, I was scared the shout yelled for Doe to grab his gun and come check out the staircase with me.
In hindsight, having a drunken college kid wield a pistol in a house full of people where ghosts may be likely is an incredibly stupid idea. But we didn’t care. The liquid courage gave me the balls to act tough, and I was going to settle this shit once and for all with Doe. I was tired of living afraid in my own house. So we patter down the dusty staircase, making sure to hit every single spider web in our way and notice the light is indeed coming from the basement, but a screen door was blocking us from entering.
It looked like our landlord had used a lock to seal off the doorway, so with only the slightest bit of force, we were able to open the shanty screen. At this point I let Doe take the lead, because, you know, he had a gun. The rest of our party had gone silent and is made a single-file line behind the two of us. Doe stealthily leads us down maybe 7 or 8 flights of steps, and then the basement opens up into a huge space.
Off to the left, a brightly shining lamp, absent of its lampshade, sat on a busted end table next to a discoloured mattress covered with a handful of disgusting comforters. In complete awe at what we had stumbled upon, Doe wasn’t paying attention and tripped over a box, spilling its contents. Hundreds of broken and used needles gushed out on to the basement floor. We all looked at each other, stunned. Someone was living down here. Underneath us. Maybe more than one person.
Then we started to notice our cleaning supplies, our dishes, our toilet paper. We spread out around the basement for the next half hour or so, investigating every little thing we could. An old wooden-framed tv with bent antennas made it’s home on a broken tv stand. A photo album with faces of strangers smiling. A photo book of someone’s memories lying in absolute dirty in the basement of a mansion. Then I found something that made me pack everyone up, leave the house, and call the police.
Lying underneath the end table was a relatively new and clean looking manila folder. Curious, I opened it and reviewed the fresh sheets of paper inside. They have released papers from prison. A man’s mugshot decorated the top, with the list of charges below. Assault. Drug trafficking. Domestic violence. He was released 2 months prior. Long story short, the police came, found a door in the basement that led to our back lot which we never used and was unlocked, and determined that was his point of entrance.
We think that while we were out of the house, he came in through the screen door and gathered supplies from our bedrooms and kitchen. I went back to gather a few bits and pieces of things I had left in my room a week after we told the landlord that we were moving out, but when I arrived at the house when I got off work, I could see a light on in my bedroom and our front door was wide open. I decided to leave my things and vacant the apartment.
Between the ages of 3 and 8, my family lived in a renting house. It was a nice house; three bedrooms, two bathrooms and one big kitchen with a broken window shell. The whole package deal was about only £180 pounds a month and that included the utilities also. We were told when we moved in that there were only two floors. The ground floor and the upstairs floor where the bedrooms were located.
The day when we shifted in and I was loitering around the backside I had seen a small creepy door down at the very bottom of our rented house. For some reason it had affected me so badly I immediately burst into tears. Since my parents were unaware of what had feared me, they simply made me calm down. This window was a source of fear and unease for me until we moved out when I was 8. My parents assumed that I would grow out of it, and I did, but not until we moved out. I could never place why it scared me out so badly but I avoided that part of the yard like it been torturing me. My most weird memory of my childhood happened in this house.
I had been asleep in bed one night when a strange sound from downstairs woke me up. I’ve always been a light sleeper but I fell back asleep too quickly for the band to really make any difference. I woke up again to heavy, awkward breathing in my ear and someone kneeling next to my bed and whispering. When I opened my eyes, I saw the pale, thin face of a man staring back at me.
I screamed, he ran away, and my parents forget it as a nightmare, but let me sleep in their room for the rest of the night. A week later my 15-year-old sister woke everyone in the house by screaming too loud at the top of her voice echoed. She admitted that she woke up to a man the one I had seen crawling into her bed. Food getting disappeared rapidly and some utensils got missing also. My mom always just uttering must be a big rat in the house disappearing things and making noises.
Sometimes things would be moved from where we left them the night before, but we ignored the incident. My sister always presumes the house was creepy. My parents assumed she was just being fearful. For a few years, this was happening frequently. Things are getting disappeared, clothes are missing and we facing the fear of strange man continuously.
When we tried many times explaining to our parents that this just happened they just avoided saying we are dreamers. This obviously caused a lot of tension between my sister and my parents. The night of my sister’s 16th birthday came to the encounter that brought about the end of our stay there. My sister woke us again screaming at the top of her voice without being normal. My parents, rushed up speedy to look for my sister and found a man in dirty clothing forcing her down and covering her mouth with his hand. An anger fight broke down between the man and my dad but the man was nearly around 78 and weak old enough.
It didn’t last for long and soon enough the man was muted and the cops were called. My mom kept my sister and me in the living room while the cops checked the rest of the house for more people and signs of the man breaking in. Instead, they found a door leading into an unfinished basement. When closed, it blended in with the wall enough that unless you knew it was there you would never see it. We were unaware of it and even the family friend who was the owner of the house was too in the shock of staying unaware about it.
The one small room was occupied with full of missing clothes and pictures of my sister and me in the backside taken from the underground of the creepy door down. The reason I had always been so fearful of that creepy door came into a highlight. The man had been taking photos of my sister and me for years. The man was mentally unstable and claimed that he was in love with my sister and that I was their ‘perfect daughter’. He also admitted that since my sister was now 16 that she was old enough to give him another child.
I exactly don’t know what had happened to him but surely he has been mentally ill and was a prisoner in a mental hospital rather than jail. Out of the many incidents, this was the unforgettable short story in English which I narrated as a whole.