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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Lueziid on 2024-10-27 06:35:42+00:00.

I just moved into an old house in the middle of nowhere. It was cheap, and I was desperate to get away from the city. I figured I could fix it up a bit, make it cozy, and live a quiet life. The basement was massive, filled with old furniture and boxes left by the previous owners, but there was this one door I couldn’t open. It was rusted shut, and no amount of force would budge it.

It was only a week ago that I finally decided to break it open. I grabbed a crowbar, thinking maybe there was a small storage space behind it. I was wrong.

The door swung open with a loud, creaking moan, and the smell hit me instantly. It was like rot mixed with something sickly sweet. I gagged, but my curiosity got the better of me. I grabbed a flashlight and peered inside. The room was small, cramped, and the walls were lined with old, yellowing photographs. They were of people… hundreds of them. Men, women, children, all staring blankly at the camera. But the thing that made my skin crawl? They were all missing their eyes.

I wanted to leave right then, but something caught my eye. In the corner of the room was an old, dusty box. It was the only thing in there that wasn’t covered in cobwebs. I shouldn’t have opened it.

Inside were dozens of small glass jars, each one containing something dark and shriveled. My flashlight flickered, and I thought I heard whispering, like tiny voices coming from the jars. I don’t know why, but I picked one up, and when I looked closer, I realized what was inside: an eyeball.

I dropped it, and it shattered on the floor. That’s when the whispering turned into a low, guttural growl. I backed up, ready to run out of the basement, but the door slammed shut on its own. The lights in the room flickered and went out completely. I was plunged into darkness, but I could feel something moving, crawling around the room.

I switched my flashlight back on, but it was dim now, barely lighting up the room. That’s when I saw them. Faces. All around me. Pressing against the walls, their eyeless sockets staring right at me. Their mouths moved, whispering, but it was like they were speaking in a language I couldn’t understand. I thought I was going insane.

I ran to the door and started banging on it, screaming, but the whispers grew louder, almost deafening. I turned around, and one of the faces was inches away from mine. It smiled, a sick, twisted grin, and I could finally make out what it was saying: “Thank you… for letting us out.”

The door burst open, and I stumbled out, sprinting up the stairs. I slammed the basement door shut and pushed a dresser in front of it, but I could still hear the whispers on the other side. I didn’t sleep that night. I just sat there, clutching a kitchen knife, waiting for whatever was down there to try and get out.

I called a locksmith the next day to have the door sealed shut. But when he arrived, he told me there was no basement door. I took him down there, and it was gone. Just a solid wall where the door used to be.

I haven’t gone back down there since. I hear things at night, scratching, like nails on a chalkboard, coming from beneath the floorboards. Sometimes I catch whispers, faint and distant, echoing through the house. And every morning, there’s a new photograph slipped under my bedroom door.

They’re pictures of me.

And in every one, my eyes are missing.