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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/ilexaqui on 2024-09-27 21:28:38+00:00.
When I was 8 years old, my family moved away from our busy home in the city to a small, sleepy town in the countryside. My dad had gotten a new job, you see, at the nuclear power plant.
The plant loomed over the town, its chimneys coughing out thick smoke onto the houses. Our homes almost seemed like an afterthought, protruding from the side of the plant like a sudden growth when its creators realised too late that their workers would need somewhere to live.
We lived on Strand Street, to the East of Building A. Although it was long ago now, I still remember the day we moved very clearly. As soon as we came into view of the towers the air seemed to feel heavy. It was as if a damp, thick blanket had been pulled up over me, pressing down on my shoulders. When I took a laboured breath my mouth filled with an odd, chemical taste. I rolled up my window.
The sun was only just beginning to set – we’d been rushing around all day trying to cram the last of our things into the car – and yet the town was deserted. I pressed my face against the glass to try and peer into the windows of houses as we drove past, but it didn’t seem like anyone was home at all. Each window pane was fully covered from the inside, not allowing even a speck of light to poke through.
‘I’m sure there’ll be lots of other children in our street, Charlie’ said my mum, seeming to read my mind. She turned around, squeezing my hand. I tried to smile. ‘That’s our house, right there!’ chimed dad, pointing to a small brick house at the end of the terrace. As he tried his best to park on the narrow road, I noticed a couple walking very quickly past us, carrying grey shopping bags. They glanced behind them every now and then, as if they were being followed by something only they could see. They finally stopped at a house just a few doors down from ours, and the woman let out a breath she’d been holding. She then began to point towards us and whisper something to the man, who was already staring worriedly at my parents as they unpacked the car.
I hopped out and stood close to my dad, who was enthusiastically shaking the man’s hand and introducing us. My dad was the type of person who could quickly become friends with anyone he met, whether they wanted to or not.
The man, Mr Grieg, looked a little uncomfortable and began glancing over his shoulder again. Mrs Grieg wrung her hands together and began to talk to my parents when she was suddenly interrupted by a knock on their window. Inside, a boy about my age was poking his head through the thick curtains as if he was searching for something. He looked down at me and broke into a wide grin, showing off a missing front tooth. As quickly as he appeared the window was now empty, and we heard thundering footsteps from inside the house. Mrs Grieg turned on her heel and almost ran towards the house in an attempt to herd the boy back in.
He came flying down the street nevertheless, almost bowling me over. ‘I’m Toby!’ he said, barely waiting for me to introduce myself before asking about the book in my hand and talking a mile a minute about how he had just started reading that series too and what was my favourite character and had I got to the really scary bit? The Griegs stood on looking nervous and my mum gently shooed Toby and I indoors to go and find my new room.
As I followed Toby and listened to his excited chatter echoing around our empty house, I looked back to see the Griegs talking in hushed tones to my parents. The smile had worn off my dad’s face, and him and my mum now had the same look of fear I had just seen on Toby’s parents.
My mum had told me weeks before, when my dad had gotten his job, that the move would take some getting used to. Some things were easier than others. I loved having my own room - there was so much more space to play than in our little flat. Even the new junior school didn’t seem so scary, now that I would have Toby by my side in September.
But some things took a little longer to take in. Toby and I could spend hours happily playing in the road, kicking round an old football or running about being pirates. But each day when the sun began to set, our mothers would appear on the doorstep and hurriedly call us inside. My mum wasn’t quite on the same level as Toby’s yet – Mrs Grieg seemed to permanently hover behind her door, just waiting for an alarm to go off in her head so she could call him in. Toby on the other hand wasn’t phased at all about the curfew. When he heard his mum call he would roll his eyes before smiling at me and jumping up from the patch of pavement serving as our ship and jogging off to his house.
For me and my mum, however, the routine felt strange. My mum had always been caring to me, of course, but had never seemed half as worried when we lived in the city. I could spend all day in the park across the road reading my book on the swings, only coming in for dinner once it’d already gone dark. But now she would look almost scared as she waited for me to walk the short distance to our house, her frown only easing once I was inside with the door shut. My dad would return home a little while later, walking alongside Mr Grieg after they finished their work day. Dad slid a bolt on the door when he came in. We’d close all the curtains and then sit and eat our dinner, accompanied by the ever-present humming of the plant.
A few weeks later, I was almost used to our strange new routine. Something which did still get to me however was the noise. Even though I was used to the bustle of the city with all the traffic and people, there was something different about the noise of the plant. It wasn’t even a constant humming – on the days when the acrid smoke was at its thickest it was a grinding, groaning, booming screech that made the ground shake slightly.
I mentioned this to Toby, who held his hand up to his ear and said ‘oh, yeah!’ as if he was hearing it for the first time. ‘I guess you get used to it after a while, we’ve been here a year now. Maybe if you’re here a year, you won’t hear it either’ he reassured me. ‘I don’t know how you couldn’t hear it, it’s everywhere! Even in my house!’ I lamented. Toby thought for a while, and then spoke again in an uncharacteristically quiet voice. ‘Well, there is somewhere where you can’t hear it’. ‘But it’s quite far away!’ he added hurriedly, already seeing the smile on my face. So far, I hadn’t ventured further than a couple streets away. I felt cooped up, and just wanted to explore. ‘It’s still very bright though, isn’t it?’ I asked him, looking up at the sky. Toby looked at his dinosaur watch, up to the sky and to my hopeful face in quick succession. ‘I’m sure we’ve got time’ he decided. ‘Let’s go!’.
Toby led the way, his trainers thudding down the pavement. ‘Wait a minute!’ I called, the thick air burning my lungs as I struggled to keep up. Toby whipped around, seeming concerned about both my increasingly red face and the seconds ticking away on his watch. We compromised with a brisk walk, trying to ignore the streetlights flickering on one by one.
Eventually the pavement faded into a worn down path, with grass and dandelions creeping up out of every crack. The air began to feel still, and cool; It felt as though the plant was loosening its grip on me. I’d forgotten what it was like to breathe so easily.
‘There!’ said Toby, his face flush with pride. We’d come into a clearing, surrounded by trees and covered in a lush blanket of grass. Wildflowers were dotted about, pastel shades of purple, blue and pink amidst the sea of green. The last few rays of sunlight shimmered on a bubbling stream, over which stood a quaint brick bridge. I couldn’t believe the starkness of this wonderful place to Strand Street. I’d stepped out of a black and white picture and into dazzling technicolour.
But the best part of all was the quiet. As Toby had promised, all that could be heard in the clearing was the soft running of the stream and the breeze blowing in the trees. ‘See, I told you Charlie!’ He said, his face lit up with excitement. ‘It’s nice here, isn’t it?’.
I could’ve stayed there forever. We picked flowers, felt the soft grass on our toes, chucked poohsticks over the side of the bridge and excitedly watched them sail down the stream. I felt a lightness in my chest and a sense of freedom I’d not felt since we left the city. We climbed trees, looked for fish in the brook and watched the sun disappear down past the horizon.
The sunset. The time. The rules.
It had suddenly gotten very, very dark.
Although the rules had become part of our DNA, it was difficult to grapple with the new and pestering longing to stay in the clearing, for even 5 minutes more.
‘Our parents will be cross’ said Toby, still looking wistfully towards the bridge. Then with a reluctant sigh, he turned back towards me. ‘we’ll come another day’. I dropped my flowers and began ambling after Toby. Back towards the grey.
But as we headed back, things seemed different to how they had before. In the dark, the tree branches reached out over us like bony fingers, blotting out the last of the light. The Plant’s groaning started up again, snatching away the last comforting sounds of the clearing.
Then there was a new sound. A rustling behind us. Following us.
Toby didn’t say anything, but he took my little hand into his and we walked just a half a step faster.
The rustling came again, this time closer.
‘Let’s run’ Toby whispered, his voice tight with fear.
As we s…
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