I woke up to an open word document:
“HI DAVID HI DAVID HI DAVID HI DAviddddddddddd
Did you miss me did you miss me did you miss miss me did miss me did you
I like it here
I likeiit!!!
Come follow me David”
I got really, really drunk that day. I mean really fucking drunk. I didn’t know what else to do so I got wasted.
What I was talking to… could it really be Phillip? I didn’t think so anymore. If it were Phillip, he wouldn’t want to scare me, and this was scaring the fucking shit out of me.
A thought started to seep into my brain, fighting through my drunken haze to make itself heard: Maybe this was why Phillip killed himself. There was something…something about this house. Something deep inside, festering, creeping, crawling. It had reached out its slimy claws and taken a hold of Phillip, drew him into the garage with that rough old rope. Phillip couldn’t escape. My baby brother didn’t commit suicide, he was practically murdered. No, scratch that: He was definitely murdered.
And now was it reaching for me?
You know, to this day I thank myself that I got so drunk. Because if I’d been in my right mind, I’d never have called the police, crying about Phillip.
“Something got Phillip, stole him away, it came for him and now it’s coming for me, I want Phillip back, please give him back, please…”
I was later told that I wouldn’t answer any of the questions the police asked. I just kept blubbering over the phone until they decided to trace the call and send someone over to check on me.
When the cops arrived, they saw the notes, all the notes I’d saved from whatever was stalking me. They listened to me crying about those nightmares, Phillip’s dead body, the creaking that never stopped, even then I could hear the creaking, always in the back of my mind…
Fortunately, the cops heard the creaking, too.
And they followed it down to the basement, deep in the back of the basement.