She's In The House

She's In The House... Find Her

If you live in Menifee, CA and there is a knock at your door tonight, don't answer it. More importantly, don't leave anyone in the house by themselves. Get your phone, call the police, and stay together. I'm writing this as I'm sitting in this police station questioning room as a warning. So that what happened to me last night, won't happen to you tonight... 

I live on my own in suburbia. Nice little neighborhood. The kind of place where kids will be playing out in the street with parents doing yard work when you pull into your driveway. That's exactly how last night began. My girlfriend and I pulled in and got out of the car. We waved to the kids and had a friendly chat with Mrs. Roop next door. This was the kind of life I always imagined. And at 20 I couldn't believe it had already happened for me. We went inside and started our evening. We made dinner. We love cooking together, there's a symmetry between us that just... works. We ate, watched some TV downstairs. Just a normal night. Once it was time we went upstairs, she started doing her nightly routine girls always do in the bathroom, and I just laid in bed, reading Penpal for the twentieth time. With the fan going and the water running from the bathroom, I almost didn't hear it. I wish now that the fan was set to 3 instead of 2, because then everything would be different. But no, it was just faint enough for me to hear the sound over everything else. 

knock knock knock

I reached over and clicked the fan off. I waited for a moment listening...

knock knock knock

"God damn it." I thought. I put my book down on the nightstand and got up. I grabbed my zip-up off the chair and threw it on. As I walked out of the room I could hear my girlfriend starting to say something, but I wanted to get rid of whoever was at the door first. I slumped down the stairs a little pissy, thinking that if this was another solicitor trying to sell me glass cleaner I was going to have a fit. I zipped up the jacket as I flicked the light on next to the front door. I looked through the peephole, but it was pitch black. I flicked the outside light on. Still pitch black. I figured the light bulb had gone out again, as I have had problems with it before. Reluctantly I twisted the deadbolt and opened the door. 

Nothing. 

No one was there. I poked my head out to look around. The yard and driveway were empty. Looking back I made so many horrible mistakes. I stepped out onto the welcome mat. The streets were empty and silent, minus the hum from the street lights. I scoffed and figured it was the kids just trying to play a prank. I turned and walked back inside. After re-locking the door and heading back for the stairs, I started to have a feeling. Something just didn't feel right in my stomach and I knew that only one thing was going to put it at ease. 

Food. 

I walked down the hallway into the kitchen and flicked on the light. Opening up the fridge I started to scan the shelves for something quick and easy to eat. I settled on one of those wafer peanut butter and chocolate bars that you can get at the dollar stores. I keep them in the fridge so they don't melt in my hand when I'm eating them. I peeled back the plastic wrapper and as I was taking my first bite, I noticed something odd out of the corner of my eye. The window above the kitchen sink... was open. I'd never opened that window for the entire time I'd lived here. I thought back trying to remember when it could have happened, and then I recalled her saying that she was feeling really hot while she was doing the dishes. She must have opened it to try and cool off. I walked over and slid it shut, and finally made my way back upstairs. I walked back into the bedroom and the water was still running. I went to the entrance to the bathroom. "Did you say something earli-" I began to stay but stopped. The bathroom was empty. Water continued to pour out of the faucet, steam floating up, clinging to the mirror. I stopped the water and turned around to scan the room, she wasn't there. "Amanda?" I called out. No answer. I went to the walk in closet. Nothing. I started to leave the room, but again something catches my eye. I glanced at my nightstand, and on top of my book, was a piece of paper. It was folded in half and set up, making it look like a little tent. I reached out and picked it up. The first thing I obviously saw was the blood. It was a bloody fingerprint on the corner of the paper. My heart started to race. Finally my brain let my eyes pan over to read what it said, and even now, I wish it wouldn't have. 

She's in the house... find her.

I read it those six words over and over. I looked around the room again, hoping to see Amanda just hiding in the corner snickering like she'd pulled off an amazing prank. But the room was empty. I walked around the room, looking behind chairs, inside the shower, inside the closet. I looked at the bed and felt like a 6 year old again as I slowly knelt down to look underneath. My hands had apparently been getting sweaty because they kept slipping slightly against the hardwood floor. I bent down and lifted the skirt of the bed. 

Nothing. 

Just a couple dust bunnies and an old pair of shoes that I keep meaning to throw out. I stood back up and started to become agitated. My mind didn't know whether this was a joke or if I needed to be terrified. 

"Amanda!" I yelled, "This isn't funny anymore, now just come out." 

Silence. 

"Look I'm really freaked out, so stop this!" 

...

I walked out into the upstairs hallway and quickly went through all the rooms. The spare bedroom. Empty. The exercise room. Empty. Other upstairs bathroom. Empty. I ran downstairs and looked everywhere there, too. It was if she just vanished, and all that was left was this note. I figured that the only thing left to do was to call the police. I ran back upstairs and into the bedroom. The bathroom faucet must have had a leak because as I entered I started hearing faint drips of water. I went to the dresser to grab my phone, but it wasn't there. Neither were my keys, or wallet. I spun and looked at my nightstand. They weren't there. I grabbed my jeans I wore that day (I was in sweats by now) and checked the pockets. Empty. I threw the jeans on the floor in anger. I stood there for a moment without a clue of what I should do. 

drip drip drip

I stormed into the bathroom and twisted the knob. 

drip drip

I hit the faucet getting pissed but then I froze. 

There was no water in the sink. 

And the drips sounded further away. 

I slowly walked back out into the bedroom. 

drip drip

I moved around trying to determine where it was coming from. As I moved closer to the bed... it got louder. Once again, I slowly dropped to my knees, and bent over next to the bed. My hand slowly reached for the bed skirt, and lifted it up. For every drip my heart pounded fifty times. I sank my head down and looked under the bed. And then I saw it. A small pool of red about a foot in front of me. With more dripping down from above. I jumped to my feet and pulled the sheets off the bed. I slid my hands in between the mattress and the box spring, and after a moment of hesitation, I flung the mattress up with everything I had. 

My throat closed instantly. I couldn't comprehend what was in front of me. My mind would only let me process the image one fraction at a time. At first I just saw my box spring, sitting inside my bed frame. Then I saw that there was a huge tear down the middle of the box spring. 

And then I saw Amanda. Inside the box spring. Her beautiful face poking out from the tear. Then there was her neck, which was nothing but red. The final thing that my mind let me see appeared. It was right in the center, laying on her stomach... another note. I couldn't move. Tears were streaming down my face uncontrollably, but I didn't make a sound. My hands began to violently shake and my knees collapsed onto the edge of the box spring. I reached out and pulled Amanda's body up. My girl, my life, my everything. I wrapped my arms around her and started to scream. 

The note slid off her hitting the box spring. My hand slowly moved down towards the note, now barely even able to bend my fingers. I somehow managed to grasp the note and bring it up to my eyes. My vision was completely blurred from the tears. I wiped them against my jacket sleeve and looked at the note. Again there was a bloody finger print, but at this point it could have been mine. Everything is hazy from those moments. But the words... the words are forever burned into my memory. They are the reason I am sitting here now, the reason I ran out of my house screaming for help. 

But where am I?

-Brad Blackwell

Brad Blackwell is 19 years old and has been writing for 7 years. He wrote, directed and produced two plays while in high school, and in 2014, he published the first of his horror novel series, The Curtain Call Chronicles. When he is not writing horror stories, he is working on his web-comic strip, Before & After.