30 Mar Home Sweet Home

Posted at 16:24h in Strange and Unexplained by CreepypastaStories.com 0 Comments

📅 Published on March 30, 2025

“Home Sweet Home”

Written by Raz T. Slasher
Edited by Craig Groshek and N.M. Brown
Thumbnail Art by Craig Groshek
Narrated by N/A

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🎧 Available Audio Adaptations: None Available

⏰ ESTIMATED READING TIME — 8 minutes

Rating: 10.00/10. From 1 vote.

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I can’t believe I’m finally creating a record of this after so many years.

It’s not an easy thing to talk about, but my therapist tells me it needs to be done. She says it’s time to let go of the past and that talking about it will help me in the long run. I’m not entirely sure I agree with her assessment. Just thinking about it sends chills up and down my spine. The memories of it resurface in my dreams a few times a week, and I wake up in a cold sweat.

My wife tells me that sometimes I scream in my sleep, waking her up, but I never remember the screaming. I’ve told her a little about what happened to me as a kid, but I’ve never really told her everything. I’ve always been afraid of getting the look that people sometimes get when you tell them you believe in ghosts. Besides, it’s 3 a.m. now, and the apartment is quiet. My wife and the cat are asleep. It’s probably not the best time to be reliving this story, but it’s not like I’ll be sleeping tonight anyway. So, in the hopes of moving on, here’s my story:

When I was a kid growing up in the ‘80s, I lived in that house that every neighborhood has, you know, the type that people generally stay away from and gossip about at the local supermarket. They’ll say things like “I’ve always had a bad feeling about that place,” or “Hey, did you hear that place was haunted?”

I grew up hearing about it from my friends, who must have listened to the stories from their siblings or parents. There were a lot of different versions, of course. Because we lived in Dayton, Ohio, near Wright-Patterson Air Force Base, the rumors ran the gamut from aliens to a previous family of serial killers having lived there. As wild as all the tales I’ve heard were, I can tell you from experience that none were even close to the truth.

Mostly, it was just my mother, my older brother and sister, and me. Dad was a traveling salesman for a machine company that none of us knew much about, and his presence was a rarity. Nothing happened when Dad was home, or at least nothing he’d admit to. I think we all felt safer when he was there, which wasn’t often. We tended to all sleep in the living room while he was gone; none of us really wanted to be alone in his absence. No one stayed over much, but I can’t say I blame them. It’s not like many people wanted to talk to the family that lived in “that” house.

What I remember most clearly was something that happened occasionally when Dad was around.

I’d wake up in my pajamas, clutching a flashlight in the hallway. I’d tell them the horrors of the night before that led to those mornings, and of course, everyone but Dad would believe me and hang on my every word. Dad would accuse me of making up stories again and even went on to claim that I was sleepwalking or suffering from night terrors. The rest of my family knew the dark truths of my midnight wanderings, but even their admissions never swayed him.

Many things happened in that house, and momentarily, I’ll get to the events that caused us to leave.

First, knowing what we saw there would be helpful.

From what I’ve researched about the paranormal since those days, I know we experienced some common occurrences as well as some not-so-common ones. Things would fly off shelves and walls, and you’d smell strange things that weren’t there. Our dog Teak would freak out at thin air and run around invisible intruders. Some of the less common things included the appearance of full-bodied apparitions, moans, and sometimes screaming, and on a few occasions, smoke would fill and overflow the house. During the instances, the smoke was seen by neighbors, who even called the fire department. Somehow, the firemen could never provide us with any real explanation.

The week leading up to our leaving was like any other week. Dad was leaving for a trip and wouldn’t be home until the weekend, and as always, Mom was begging him not to leave us alone in that house. Each night, Mom would make us beds on the floor in the living room while she took the couch. There was an unspoken rule among us not to look into the dining room or down the long, dark hallway to our rooms. Nothing ever good came of it.

That night he left seemed about as normal as every other night.

The same horrifying sounds came from the depths of the house, and the disembodied shadow people roamed every wall.

Each morning, we left school exhausted and became more terrified about returning home when the final bell for the day would sound. How my mother survived there without us, we never knew.

Friday night rolled around, and we were bolstered by the thought that Dad would return the following afternoon. We settled into a movie marathon in the living room with our little beds all made up and munched on popcorn.

That was the night that things got worse.

A massive storm was going on outside, so strong that it sounded like the wind was tearing shingles from the roof. The rain was coming down like mini explosions, echoing through the empty, dark house. I had to go to the bathroom, but the light was at the other end of the hallway, and no one would go with me. Finally, Mom took me by the hand and we braved the darkness together. We made it down the hallway quicker than usual, tensing at the opening to every even darker room as we passed.

Eventually, we made it to the light switch, and everything seemed fine at first. Mom waited in the hall while I closed the bathroom door and turned to look around.

Something wasn’t right, but I just couldn’t put my finger on it.

I went to the bathroom and washed my hands at the sink. It wasn’t until I looked into the mirror that I noticed what was wrong.

Two people were staring back at me from that reflection, two clearly dead people. Their skin was cracked and somehow still bleeding, their eyes hollow and endless. They seemed to be moving closer, but I was frozen in shock. I tried to call out, but the sound just wouldn’t come. Sensing something was wrong, my mom tried to open the door, but somehow it was locked, and no matter what she did, it wouldn’t budge. According to the view in the mirror, these things were now on either side of me.

Suddenly, the realization of who they were hit me, and finally, I screamed. It was my brother and sister! I’d just seen them moments ago, alive and well. I was baffled.

Suddenly, the door popped open, and Mom ran in. Just as her arms flew around me, we could hear the earth-shattering screams rip down the hallway from the living room. Just as we turned to run to the source, a nasty bolt of lightning felt like it struck the old TV tower on top of the house. The floor rumbled and creaked, and suddenly we were plunged into darkness. The closer we got to that living room, the louder the screams got, echoing so harshly that my ears started ringing. The lightning was coming quickly enough to allow small glimpses of the room between flashes.

Not even what I saw in the bathroom prepared me for what I saw next. My brother and sister huddled on the floor together, surrounded by the shadows that had previously only existed on the walls. They were now solid forms, so dark that no light would penetrate them. Dragging me with her, Mom pushed through the figures to get to my brother and sister. We all just latched on to each other, and Mom screamed for us to run.

We tried the front door first, but it wasn’t budging. Mom grabbed the keys to our van, and my brother and I snatched the two emergency flashlights from the hook by the door. Together, we headed towards the old laundry room near the back door. It was the scariest part of the house on a bright sunny day. Even now, the thought of seeing it sends chills up my spine.

We reluctantly ran in that direction, chased all the way through the kitchen and dining room by those damn shadows. When we arrived, we found the back door as immobile as the front one had been. We were trapped, and all of us knew it.

Then, somehow, the washer and dryer turned themselves on. They were so loud that it sounded like rocks were inside them. We each searched one another’s eyes, hoping to find some ray of hope that seemed just out of reach. We stood there for what felt like forever, staring at those shadows as they peered back at us.

Out of desperation, Mom herded us back to the living room. The figures just stood there watching us. Had they wanted to, they could have grabbed us at any time. It was like they were playing the ultimate game of cat and mouse.

Mom rushed us down that long hallway we were all so terrified of. As we passed my brother’s and my room on the right, more figures slid out and joined the chase. The hallway ended in a vast space containing doors to the rest of the house. Figures poured from every doorway, keeping us pinned down in the middle of that open space.

From above, the attic door began to groan and creak. The wood seemed to warp, bending down toward us. I thought it would crack open to unleash hell at any moment. Suddenly, I could feel hands grabbing at me, hands that didn’t belong to anyone in my family. Their grips were ice cold and became painful very quickly. I began to lose consciousness as I felt an intense pressure on my chest, which made it nearly impossible to breathe. I heard my mom praying while my brother and sister were crying.

The last thing I heard before I blacked out was a whisper in my left ear.

A deep voice said, “You’ll never be alone again.”

* * * * * *

We woke up the following day, all huddled in the hall in our pajamas, with the two flashlights dimmed from low batteries. All the lights were on in the house, and everything was quieter than ever. We were covered in bruises that looked suspiciously like handprints. We moved from room to room together, packing some clothes and a few odds and ends. Mom took us to Granny’s house. Having experience with the house, she believed us immediately and told my mother she’d always known that something like this would happen.

We went to the airport as a family to pick up my father from his trip. On the way back to Granny’s, none of us said much. Dad did most of the talking, telling us about his recent trip to China. He’d brought us back some cool gifts, he said, and couldn’t wait to show them to us later. Mom had mentioned we were spending the weekend with Granny, and he didn’t seem to mind.

Mom hung back to talk to Dad once the rest of us went inside. We overheard them arguing about something, but Granny distracted us before we heard much of anything. Dad came in long enough to pass out the gifts before heading for home. That night, we wore the silk dragon pajamas he’d brought us. That night, for the first time in a long time, we slept great.

Dad came back the following day to see us. He was white as a sheet and shaking a little. That terrified me, I think, more than the others. Dad was the bravest and strongest man I knew, and seeing him like this was unsettling. He told us we would be staying with Granny for a while, too, but wouldn’t say why.

A few days later, he sat us down to let us know that we would be moving. He said he and Mom had been discussing it for a while. They’d bought the house when they were first married and didn’t expect such a big family. He called it an upgrade—but we knew it was more than that.

In the following couple of weeks, we moved into a new house on the other side of the neighborhood. Dad had sent for our things to ensure none of us had to set foot in that place again.

Now and then, I drive by the old place. There’s always a different family living there, and a for-sale sign out front. No one seems to stay there long, and I can imagine why. I’ve thought about going to an open house to see the place again, but I can never make it past the front porch.

Throughout the years, we’ve all tried cornering my dad to ask him what he’d seen.

We wanted to know the real reason we’d moved.

He’d always play it off and start talking about the “black mold” that we all knew wasn’t there.

It wasn’t until the week before he passed away that he finally opened up to me about what he saw. He didn’t go into much detail, but he was adamant about my knowing that he believed us.

The day he died, we were all together at the hospital, spending the last few hours together as a complete family.

Just before he closed his eyes forever, he suddenly grasped my hand, and his eyes widened.

And in a strange voice I recognized only from childhood, he said, “You’ll never be alone again.”