nosleep

This took place in the early 1970s Nebraska. In a little bitty town called Dorchester. Not too far outside of Lincoln. My Mom abandoned by her first husband; did her best to raise my two older brothers. My brothers were ages 4 and 7. Times were lean and hard for the little family. With some help from my grandparents, Mom moved into a shabby old house located in town. The house had some history. It belonged to the railroad. Serving as a boarding house for employees and passengers dating back to the 1880s. It fulfilled that role until it fell into disuse. It was eventually made into a rental property.

Mom noticed strange happenings surrounding the family, starting the day they moved in. Small rows of salt neatly poured on all window sills and across all doorways. The family's pet Saint Bernard named Barney refused to enter the house. He stayed outside regardless of the weather or the time of year. To make matters worse, both my brothers uncharacteristically started wetting their beds.

One morning. My brother, age four, played in the living room, yet, he watched a specific section of the wall. Mom noticed he sometimes talked to a particular part of the wall. Mom was cleaning house at the time, so she had one eye on him and the other on washing dishes. Figuring he was using his imagination, shrugging off his behavior. She soon started vacuuming the living room. My brother sat watching Sesame Street on the television. As she swept, she noticed my brother stand up and walk over to the wall he had talked to earlier. He then put both hands on the wall, slowly moving them up and down. He continued talking to the area then broke into tears. Mom shut off the vacuum and asked what he was wrong. She said my brother turned and faced her, his face flushed and wet. Thru his tears, he sobbed, Mommy, there is a sad man in the wall...He's crying, and he wants out... He is there, Mommy, see him! Can you see him?? Help him, Mommy, please help him! Mom quickly snatched up one brother and half dragged the other. She ran the three blocks terrified to my Grandparent's house. My Grandparents finally talked Mom into returning to the home a few days later. A feat that took much convincing, threatening, and reassuring.

In the months after that event, a loud crashing bang sound often emitted from the attic. Mom described the sound as an adult taking a bowling ball and slamming it on the ground as hard as possible. A rolling sound soon followed the loud impact. Every time the sound occurred, it was investigated. Nothing was ever found. This happened both day and night. My grandparents both experienced this on many occasions. When the sound would happen, my grandparents said both my brothers would scream and go into hysterics. Mom felt terrified and trapped. She was bound into a lease and borrowed heavily from my grandparents to make ends meet. She had nowhere to go with two small children and couldn't afford to leave.

Months later, my Dad came into the picture. He eventually moved into the household. It was a damn creepy house, he said on many occasions. He hated living there the minute he moved in. Dad had returned from Vietnam a few years prior and was a combat veteran. Whenever he was in that house, a feeling of being watched with ill intent plagued him. Many nights for him were filled with terrible nightmares about the war. He had never experienced this before moving into the home. Mom said she would often wake up to find him pacing restlessly in the darkness. Other nights she was awoken by the muffled screams of his tormented sleep.

One Sunday evening, the family returned home from grocery shopping. Upon unlocking the front door and entering the home. They found four dead blackbirds in the center of the living room. The birds lined up in a parallel row with their wings spread as if in flight. They each lay on their breasts. Heads and beaks were pointing towards a specific area of the living room wall. Instantly, the atmosphere was pierced by my brothers' sharp shrill screaming cries. My father stood in the entryway. His arms were full of groceries; his mouth gaped open in utter shock by the insanity before him. My Mom immediately turned and crouched to console the boys and shield them from the scene. It happened as she kissed and embraced her boys—a loud bashing sound hammered from the attic above. The windows of the house vibrated from the concussion. Dust slowly drifted down thru the last rays of sunlight. Mom said the utter silence that followed was incredibly unnerving. Then the slow, heavy rolling sound again filled the entire house. My Dad set down the bags of groceries and made his way to the attic, cautiously approaching. Mom continued to hug my brothers. She happened to look past their shoulders onto the large front porch; she saw Barney there. The giant Saint Bernard lay cowered with his tail tightly pulled under him. The dog was unwilling to make eye contact when she called out to him. Instead, the animal shook uncontrollably. She noticed a large wet spot beneath him. Dad came down from the attic a few minutes later. Nothing was ever found, as usual.

This was the breaking point for my family. My Dad decided to sell his vehicle and worked overtime when possible. He paid off the lease at the first opportunity. He moved them all out of the house; they never looked back. My Dad said that once they left that house, they never had any other experiences like that. His terrible nightmares stopped. I traveled to Nebraska with my Dad in 2002, and he showed me the old house, which was abandoned but still standing… Dad grimly joked, saying as we drove by, I wonder if that crying man ever made it out of that wall...