This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/FlyNearby7599 on 2024-10-20 18:58:14+00:00.

I grew up in a small town where everyone knew each other. It was quiet, peaceful—a place where the strangest things were the rumors that spread like wildfire. One such rumor was about Mr. Longlegs.

He was said to be a tall, spindly figure, a man with impossibly long limbs and a face hidden in shadows. Kids would tell tales of how he roamed the woods at night, his legs stretching and twisting as he moved. They said he could crawl into your bedroom through the tiniest cracks and that he liked to watch you sleep.

I never believed those stories, not until last summer.

I was fourteen and had just gotten my first job babysitting for the Johnsons down the street. They had two kids, Lucy and Ben, who were about six and eight. The Johnsons were lovely people, and I felt safe in their cozy little house, tucked away from the whispers of the town.

One evening, the kids were in bed, and I settled on the couch with a bowl of popcorn and a movie. As the film played, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched. It was an old house, creaky and full of shadows, but I dismissed it as my imagination.

Around midnight, I heard a soft tap against the window. I turned, my heart racing, but there was nothing there. Just the moonlight casting eerie shapes on the walls. I tried to focus on the movie, but the feeling of unease settled deeper in my stomach.

Then I heard it again. A gentle tapping, almost like fingers rapping against glass. I glanced at the clock—12:30 AM. The kids were still sound asleep. I stood up, gathering my courage, and walked to the window.

As I pulled back the curtain, I saw him.

Mr. Longlegs stood just beyond the porch, his long limbs stretching impossibly in the dim light. He was unnaturally tall, his body swaying as if caught in a breeze that didn’t exist. His face was obscured, but I could feel his eyes on me—cold, unblinking.

My heart pounded in my chest. I wanted to scream, to run, but I was frozen in place. As I stared, he lifted one of his long arms and pointed directly at me.

The air grew thick with dread. I stumbled back, retreating from the window, my mind racing. I grabbed my phone to call the Johnsons, but as I dialed, the lights flickered. I glanced back out the window. Mr. Longlegs had moved closer, his limbs bending at unnatural angles, creeping along the porch like a spider.

In a panic, I ran to the kids’ room. I shook Lucy awake, whispering for her to be quiet. “We need to hide,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

As I ushered the kids into the closet, I heard the front door creak open. My breath caught in my throat. He was inside.

I clamped my hand over Lucy’s mouth, and we huddled in the dark, listening to the sound of footsteps—slow, deliberate, echoing through the house. They were long and drawn-out, like a predator savoring the chase.

“Mr. Longlegs,” Ben whispered, his eyes wide with fear.

I shushed him, heart racing, as I strained to hear. The footsteps stopped. A moment of silence, then the soft tap-tap-tap began again, but this time, it was coming from the closet door.

I pressed my back against the wall, panic rising. The kids held their breath.

The tapping grew louder, more insistent. I couldn’t take it anymore. I slowly turned to peek through the crack in the closet door.

What I saw made my blood run cold. Mr. Longlegs was crouched down, his elongated fingers stretched out, tapping on the wood. His face was still obscured, but his mouth twisted into a grin—a wide, horrific grin that sent chills down my spine.

“Let me in,” he whispered, his voice a low hiss. “I just want to play.”

I closed my eyes, desperate for it all to be a nightmare. The tapping continued, relentless.

Suddenly, the front door slammed shut, and the footsteps retreated. I held my breath, unsure of what was happening.

After what felt like an eternity, I cautiously opened the closet door. The house was silent, but the feeling of dread lingered. I looked at the kids, their faces pale and wide-eyed.

“Stay here,” I said, and I stepped out into the hallway, the darkness swallowing me whole.

I crept toward the living room, praying Mr. Longlegs was gone. I turned on the light, and the house was empty, save for the soft rustling of leaves outside.

Just as I thought it was over, I noticed something strange on the floor—a trail of muddy footprints leading to the window. They were impossibly long, stretching across the room.

I turned back to the kids, my heart racing. “We need to leave. Now.”

As we rushed to the door, I glanced back one last time. There, in the corner of the room, stood Mr. Longlegs. His figure was even taller now, limbs stretching and bending at unnatural angles. He pointed at me again, the grin widening.

“Playtime isn’t over,” he whispered, as I slammed the door behind us.

I never returned to the Johnsons’ house. I never babysat again. The rumor of Mr. Longlegs faded into the whispers of the town, but I knew better. I could still feel his gaze, watching me from the shadows, waiting for the right moment to play again.

And I fear that one day, he’ll find his way In again