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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/InformationRemote865 on 2024-11-11 04:25:37+00:00.

I was babysitting my niece one night while her parents went out for a well-deserved date night. They live in the basement of an old house, where the low ceilings and dim lighting give everything a heavy, shadowed look. At first, things were fine. She was laughing, pushing her toy car across the carpet, making little “vroom” sounds as it skidded along. I watched her, amused, letting her energy fill the quiet room. But then, mid-laugh, she froze. Her gaze drifted to an empty corner across the room, her mouth slowly opening as if she’d seen something terrible.

Then, without warning, she started screaming. The sound was raw, piercing, as if she were in pain. She scrambled into my lap, clawing at my shirt, her little fingers trembling. I held her tightly, feeling her heart pound against mine as she buried her face in my shoulder. Her cries echoed off the walls, and as I tried to calm her, I found myself glancing at the corner too—feeling a creeping sense of dread that had no reason to be there.

“Ellie, there’s nothing there,” I whispered, trying to keep my voice steady as I rocked her gently in my arms. She clung to me, her tiny fists clutching my shirt as her eyes stayed locked on the dark, empty corner. I looked over again, forcing myself to focus, trying to see what could possibly be frightening her so much. Shadows lingered there, but nothing more.

I kept speaking softly, and after a while, her grip loosened, her cries quieting to small hiccups as her gaze finally drifted back to me. I breathed a small sigh of relief and turned her away from that corner, cradling her head against my shoulder and talking about her favorite toys, anything to distract her.

But then, her little body tensed, and her gaze snapped back over my shoulder, to that same spot. This time, her scream was louder, more desperate—a sound that cut through me. She struggled in my arms, twisting to look at the corner as if something there was reaching out, pulling her in.

Her gaze was fixed on the exact same spot, unwavering, wide with terror. Against all my better judgment, I turned to look, my eyes following hers to the empty, shadowed corner. The basement light buzzed softly, casting faint shadows, but there was nothing—only the bare wall and darkened space where two edges met. Yet, as I stared, goosebumps prickled up my arms and across the back of my neck.

Ellie’s little fingers dug into me, clutching with surprising strength, her nails pressing almost painfully into my skin. Her whole body was tense, coiled with fear I couldn’t explain away. They say children are more sensitive to things we’ve long since blocked out—that they see what we can’t, that they’re open to things beyond understanding. The thought crept into my mind, gnawing at my sense of reason, and with it, a cold, uneasy fear took root. I couldn’t see anything, couldn’t hear or feel a thing, but the look on Ellie’s face told me she was seeing something that I couldn’t. Something that terrified her down to her core.

I decided it would be best to take her upstairs, so I grabbed a few of her toys and we left, heading upstairs to the living room.

The stairs creaked as we climbed, Ellie clinging to me, her head buried in my shoulder as if hiding from whatever had haunted that corner. I kept talking, my voice low and steady, hoping it would keep both of us calm. By the time we reached the living room, her grip had relaxed, and I was able to set her down gently on the couch.

I turned on the TV and put on Dora the Explorer, her favorite. Slowly, she seemed to forget about the basement, her eyes brightening as she started singing along with the familiar theme song. Relief washed over me as she began to play with her toys again, her laughter filling the room and pushing the eerie silence from my mind.

I headed into the kitchen, glancing back occasionally to make sure she was okay. Opening the cupboard, I grabbed a can of soup and popped it into the microwave. The soft hum of the microwave was oddly comforting, grounding me after the strange, tense moments in the basement. Just as the timer ticked down, I heard a faint, familiar sound—a quiet whimper from the living room. I turned around, and there was Ellie, standing frozen in front of the TV, her wide eyes staring back down the hall toward the basement door.

I rushed over, glancing down the hall into the empty darkness lingering at the top of the basement stairs. The shadows seemed thicker somehow, pressing against the doorway like a solid weight. For Ellie’s sake, I tried to stay calm, smiling as I knelt down and reassured her, even though my voice felt shaky.

“Let me just close the door, alright?” I said, my words more for my own reassurance than hers. I headed down the hall, each step making my pulse quicken. I kept telling myself it was nothing, that I was only spooked because of Ellie’s fear, but the closer I got, the heavier the air seemed to grow. I reached the door and swung it shut, feeling the weight of it as it clicked into place. I tested the latch, making sure it wouldn’t swing open.

Turning back, I forced a smile, hoping she couldn’t see the uncertainty in my eyes. “There’s nothing to worry about, Ellie. Uncle Mikey’s got you. You’re safe.” But even as I said it, a chill ran through me, the words feeling hollow. I could feel something lingering in the silence behind me, something I couldn’t see but somehow knew was there.

We settled into the routine, Dora the Explorer playing in the background as Ellie sipped her soup, seeming more like her usual self, her earlier terror fading with each spoonful. I relaxed a bit too, thinking maybe it had all been a child’s imagination running wild.

Then my phone buzzed, breaking the comfortable lull. It was a text from my sister, checking in, asking how things were going and if I wouldn’t mind switching the laundry over. I smiled, telling her we were fine, that Ellie was loving her Dora marathon and her SpaghettiOs.

After a moment, I texted back, asking where the washer and dryer were, hoping it was somewhere upstairs. Her reply came a moment later, casual as could be: In the basement, by the shower.

I sighed and replied, Sure, I’ll get it done. Almost instantly, my sister sent back another message, Thanks! You’re the best brother.

Her message brought a small smile to my face, a warmth that helped push back the unease simmering beneath the surface. But as soon as I looked up, my gaze landed back on the basement door, standing there like a silent challenge. I knew I couldn’t avoid it, so I took a deep breath and stood, telling Ellie to stay put and keep watching her show.

She gave a little nod, her attention glued to the screen, and I headed toward the basement door. I opened it, stepping into the stairwell, and as I descended, that unsettling chill crept back up my spine, my skin prickling as though the shadows themselves were brushing against me. I tried to shake it off, telling myself how ridiculous it was, how there was absolutely nothing to fear.

“Get a grip,” I muttered under my breath, gripping the railing tightly. I was an adult, for crying out loud. The dark had lost its hold on me years ago, so why was I letting it crawl back now? Each step down felt heavier, as if I were walking deeper into some unspoken dread waiting at the bottom of those stairs.

I flipped on every light switch I could find as I stepped into the basement, flooding the room with harsh, flickering light. The hum of the bulbs felt oddly comforting, like a barrier against the silence that had settled here. The shadows shrank away into corners, giving the basement an almost normal look. For a moment, I managed to shake off the tension, focusing on the rhythmic task of moving damp clothes from the washer to the dryer.

But then, just as I was nearing the bottom of the pile, a strange, uneasy feeling crept back in, sinking deep into my bones. Goosebumps prickled across my arms, and a chill slithered up my spine, like a thousand tiny legs scurrying up my back. I froze, my fingers gripping the last damp shirt, my breath caught in my throat. The lights overhead flickered slightly, and the sensation grew stronger, heavier, as if something just beyond my sight was watching, waiting for me to turn around.

I moved as quickly as I could toward the doorway, every step feeling like I was being watched, shadows stretching to reach me. Just as I was about to escape, a sound stopped me in my tracks—the unmistakable, slow rhythm of breathing coming from behind. My heart thundered, almost drowning it out, but the sound was there, steady, coming from the direction of the shower.

I froze, every instinct telling me to run, but something stronger—curiosity, dread, something unnameable—held me in place. Slowly, I turned, my legs shaky, the adrenaline making my entire body feel like it might give out. And then I saw it: a figure, crouched near the shower in the dim light, a mass of pure shadow, darker than anything around it, a silhouette that seemed to absorb the darkness itself. It looked twisted, almost monstrous, something that shouldn’t exist in this world.

In an instant, it began crawling toward me, its movements jerky and unnatural, closing the distance with terrifying speed. A scream tore from my throat, and I spun around, racing up the stairs. Just as I reached the first step, something icy and firm wrapped around my ankle, yanking me back. I crashed onto the stairs, pa…

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