I ain’t good with words or fancy talk, but I gotta tell it. Somebody’s gotta know.
See, I didn’t have no place to stay that night. Been rough for a while—streets are cold, and folks don’t much care for a guy like me hanging ’round. I saw this old building, all busted up and leaning like it didn’t wanna stand no more, but it looked quiet. Empty. That’s all I needed.
The door was barely hanging on, so I slipped in easy. Smelled damp, like wet rags left too long, and the dark was thick, like you could scoop it with a spoon. Thought maybe I’d find a corner, curl up, and shut my eyes for a bit.
But there was this sound, y’know? Like something tapping, slow and steady, coming from somewhere deep. I thought it was maybe pipes or rats, but it didn’t stop, just kept going, tick, tick, tick. My gut started twisting, but my head said, “Don’t be stupid. It’s just a noise.”
I found the stairs going down, broken pieces of wood creaking under my boots. Didn’t even know why I went down there. Curiosity, maybe, or just looking for a spot out of the wind. The air got colder the further I went, like the basement didn’t want me there.
And then I saw it.
The light was dim, just a crack of moon sneaking through a busted window, but it hit the rope first. A thick, ugly rope dangling from the ceiling. And on it… a body. A man, maybe, though he didn’t look right no more. His head was all wrong, bent back so far you’d think it’d snap clean off, and his face… Lord help me, his face was smiling. Wide and sharp, like he knew a joke I didn’t wanna hear.
But the worst was his eyes. They were open, wide like saucers, and they weren’t just staring—they were looking. At me. Through me. I moved left, and the eyes followed. Right, and they followed again. Didn’t blink. Didn’t stop.
I wanted to scream, but my throat felt stuck, like something was squeezing it shut. My legs started shaking, but I couldn’t move. It was like he had me pinned, like those dead eyes were holding me in place.
Then the rope creaked.
Not like swinging, no. It was like… weight shifting. Like he was leaning, trying to get closer without moving. But he couldn’t move, could he? He was dead. Dead things don’t move.
Except his neck twitched. Just a little, but I saw it. Saw the muscles pulling against the snap.
“Get out,” I whispered to myself. My voice didn’t sound like mine, more like a little kid begging for mercy.
The eyes narrowed. The grin widened.
I don’t know how I ran, but I did. Up the stairs, tripping over my own feet, smashing through the door into the night air. My chest burned, my legs screamed, but I didn’t stop until I was far, far away from that place.
Even now, I swear I can feel those eyes. Like they reached out and latched onto my soul, dragging me back to that basement in my dreams. I see him every time I close my eyes, still hanging, still smiling, still waiting.
Waiting for me to come back.
