My grandfather debunked ghost stories, and his last investigation killed him.
My grandfather tried to disprove ghost stories. He didn't like being called an investigator because, as he often said, "there's nothing to investigate, only to prove wrong." He never believed, which made Houdini look bad (for those who didn't know, Houdini was a big sceptic). He knew what every bump in the night or strange shadow in a picture meant. Over the course of his work, Gramps was called to hundreds or even thousands of homes, buildings, and places. Some people were scared that their doors and art would fall, while others wanted to see how good he was. He could always show the homeowners that their floors were sloped in a way that made the doors slam when the windows were open or that their paintings were hung on plasterboard and the nails would come loose over time. People tried to trick him, but they were never able to. He found their secret rooms or fake floors, and in more modern times he became very good at Photoshop.
When I was scared that there was a monster under the bed or in the wardrobe, I would call Gramps. He would tell me not to worry. He made me feel better, and soon we were working together, which kept me busy in high school. When I was in college, it was great because he turned it into an internship for me, and I got extra credit for going into people's homes and learning how he did his job. I had no plans to take over the family business, but I loved spending time with him. I had other things to do, so he wouldn't take me on all of his trips. One trip in particular I can't say if I wish I had gone or if I'm glad I didn't. This is the trip I want to talk about with you.
I found out about 27 Stock Free Lane after Gramps had already been there. No, I don't think I ever would have if he hadn't carefully written down everything he did for each job and kept this one so safe. I hid my sadness by getting rid of the things in his hired office space last night. Gramps died in a strange and sudden way about a week ago. His doctor found a lump in his thyroid a month ago. I think it was cancer, and it had already spread to his brain and lungs. I thought thyroid cancer was easy to treat and easy to find early. This was a surprise.
But even the best people have bad days, and Gramps's was this one. He was in pain for a short time and died a few weeks after it was found. For what I thought was his honour and his desire to go his own way, he decided not to treat it. I'm not sure that's still true, though. He may have known that medicine would not help. I found the package while cleaning out his office, as I already said. It was hidden in the bottom of the desk's top drawer and didn't have a title. It was almost begging to be overlooked. It may have been the fact that it wasn't labelled that made me open it, though. Everything else was dated and named, but this envelope didn't have any information about Gramps on it.
On the inside Among his other notes and files, I only found a few pieces of lined paper. But since this was different, I knew it had to be important. Gramps was writing about one of his most recent cases in his usual crooked, half-cursive style. His notes were usually short and more like notes than stories. For example, he might say, "hearing voices, security camera mics were hacked" or "mice in the pipes making the horrible screeching noises," and then quickly describe what happened. But this was different.
"This house at 27 Stock Free Lane should be taken down and left to rot." No one should be here; it's the work of something I've denied my whole life. But I can't lie about this anymore. There's no way in hell that this is a fake. A lot of people have tried to fake it. I saw things here that I can't explain. I know this is where I'll be killed. Right away, this threw me off; it wasn't like them at all. I had never heard Gramps talk about 27 Stock Free Lane, and the date was just over a month ago, so it had to be recent. He was never dramatic. He hadn't brought it up once in all the times I saw him after that.
"Mrs. Geller called me to tell me about a strange person she saw walking around at night." Even though she tried to deal with it, her husband was often gone for work, and she had good reason to be scared since they had a new baby. What would happen to a young woman home alone at night? That's what I thought it was right away. I was determined to do everything I could to help Mrs. Geller. She refused to leave me and the baby when I got there on Friday night. The fact that her husband was out of the country on business was proven by location services, reliable witnesses, and photos. I did the standard checks, but there was neither a fake door nor a loose window to be found. We slept in the master bedroom that night. Mrs. Geller and I stayed awake while the baby slept in her arms. I knew something was wrong because it happened every night, as she told me.
It began with the soft sound of walking feet moving up and down the hall outside the closed door. Sounds of a woman walking on soft ground, not the sound of a man walking in boots. She told me there was a man in the house, which I found strange. After some time, the noise stopped, but then it came from the master bathroom again. Mrs. Geller jumped, and I have to say I was shocked because I thought there was only a door in the room we were in that led to this room. How could people walk from the hallway to the toilet without running into us?
"It's beginning," she told me. Even though it was dark, I could see fear in her eyes and the loss of colour in her face. I told her I would catch the jerk because it was mean to scare a woman like that. This time, she said, "Don't go in there," and her voice shook so badly that not even the best actors could fake it. I've never really looked it in the eye, but I know bad things will happen if I do. I called you here to show that I'm not crazy, but I don't need you to take away my crazy. I'll move, and we can go. It was enough for you to believe me. Let's leave now. I can't say she didn't tell me.
"Don't worry, miss. I promise." I only want to look. No one can hurt me in there, and you don't have to move. Let me scare him away. I went to the bathroom, threw open the door and reached for the light switch. When I flipped it over, the light didn't come on. I tried again, going up and down, but it wasn't working. I went back into the bedroom and tested that switch. It worked fine. I had checked, and the switch for the bathroom also controlled the bedroom. I had never seen this before. The jerk must have broken the light bulb.
As soon as I thought about it, I walked into the room. I only took a few steps before I felt a rush of air and heard the door slam behind me. The baby started to cry, and I could hear Mrs. Geller screaming. Even though I'm usually not scared in these situations, I was terrified to feel chills run up my spine and feel my hands shake a little. After taking a deep breath, I took another step, but a rough force stopped me right away.
I stumbled backwards and looked around to get used to the dark. Through the small window above the bathroom floor, moonlight was coming in, and I could see what the room looked like. But being able to stand in the pool was new. Since the tub was separate, there was no shower curtain or anything else on that wall, and there was also no light or art. It looked like a man, but it was bigger than any man I'd seen. I was about eight feet tall, but I was very skinny. It might have been even taller because I could see what looked like a top hat on its head.
I felt cold because I knew this wasn't a trick. It took a step towards me, and as it got close to my throat, I tried to scream. I didn't get anything out; instead, I felt something dig its hand into my skin. It had to be impossible, but I could feel its hand pressing down on my throat and making it hurt. No matter how hard I tried, nothing worked. It only let go of me and slowly walked back to the tub before disappearing completely, which is how I made it through.
I fell back through the door and grabbed Mrs. Geller's hand, telling her we had to leave. I didn't look back or touch anything because I knew we had to leave. I knew better than to mess with something so strong after being warned. We ran out the door, and I helped her get into my van. Then we drove off.
I have no idea what we saw that night, but I know it let me go on purpose. It wants me to tell people what happened that night because it wants to be known. I spent my whole life trying to show people that it wasn't real, so now it's time for it to prove me wrong. It killed me. Doctors might say it was cancer, but I wasn't sick at all before that night. When that thing grabbed for my throat, I think it infected me and put poison in my cells to make me completely aware of how strong it is.
The tumour in my neck has strange growths coming out of it that the doctors have never seen before. I told them I had no idea what it was, but I know it's the thing's "handprint" because that's where I felt its bad hand enter me. It only kept me alive long enough for me to figure out what it did and feel scared. But I won't talk about it because I don't want my family and friends to think they can stop it from killing me. I can only hide it from them now and make sure that no one ever goes back to that house and sees that demon again. If anyone reads this, please know that what I felt that night was real, and trust me when I say, "Never think for a second that we are alone in this world."
