The Crawlspace in my Backyard. Pt. 1 ​ For all the…
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The Crawlspace in my Backyard. Pt. 1
​
For all the smart-asses reading this: yes, I'm sure it wasn't there before. I've lived in this house for over a decade. My backyard is about fifty feet long. There's a patio, a garage, and a Y-shaped yard with patches of grass and weeds.
Yesterday, while eating breakfast and looking out the kitchen sink window (I'm a sink-eater, sue me), I noticed a four-by-four white wooden panel standing in the middle of my yard. I keep a tidy yard, so after I finished eating, I put on some jeans, kept whatever T-shirt I slept in on, and went outside.
The panel was painted white. I could still see the wood grain texture. I was able to walk around it. From behind, the panel was invisible. I gave the front a tap with my foot. "Knock-knock" I went to where the back would be if visible and tapped it there. Moving the front of my foot forward, I felt nothing. But bringing it back, I could feel scraping wood around the skin of my foot. I yelped and pulled my shoe off. No splinters, but my big toe was raw and tender, despite wearing socks and shoes. Furthermore, I realized there were four flat-head screws holding the panel in place. I hadn't noticed them at first because they had been painted over. Seeing as it was a Saturday and I would just lounge about the house otherwise, I decided to further satisfy my own curiosity.
I went to my garage. I grabbed a screwdriver, flashlight, knee and elbow pads (thank God I grabbed those), and a backpack. I put two bottles of water, three protein bars, rope, and a pocket knife in it. I texted a friend that I was doing some urban exploring in my backyard and that if he hadn't heard from me in twelve hours, to alert the authorities of my disappearance. He responded with "K."
Before I tell you my first experience in the crawlspace, let me tell you something about myself. I am by no means adventurous. I am an overweight, 5'8", 33-year-old who was lucky enough to get into the housing market, only to buy a two-bedroom ranch house in the suburbs. I was never an Eagle Scout. I never joined Boy Scouts. I'm ready for a nap after just taking my trash to the curb after I get back from work. And yet—the moment I saw those screws, there was this overwhelming pull. Like I needed to get in there. Not like an emotional feeling, but a magnetic or animalistic curiosity. Maybe that's a feeling, but it wasn't natural; it was alien.
I took the screws out and removed the panel. The panel was about five centimeters deep. Honestly, I could have just smashed through. But I figured I should know what it's blocking before causing property damage. Behind the panel was darkness. A warm breeze emanating. It smelled of damp wood, musky, dusty, old wood. I clicked on my flashlight. Inside, it looked the way it smelled. From floor to top was only about three-and-a-half to four feet. There were wooden beams standing vertically, as if to support the structure. It stretched further than I could see. So I set a timer on my phone, crossed myself, and entered.
On my hands and knees, I crawled forward. I kept my flashlight in my mouth. Of all the things I've put in my mouth—0/10, never again. After crawling about fifteen minutes, I looked back. I had tied a white nylon rope to a vertical beam where I entered, just so I could retrace my steps. I could see the light of the opening beaming into the dark. It was kind of reassuring. Although it looked further than I thought I'd traveled. Out of curiosity, I wanted to see just how dark it was and how much light traveled in through that opening. Off it went.
Fear and dread soon gripped me.
You know how, as a kid, if you're scared you sleep with the door open and the hall light on? But then it's quiet and still. And as you drift to sleep, you imagine someone or something passing by, casting a brief shadow. That was what gripped me. I was frozen. Helpless. What pulled me out of it was the metallic click and jingle of a pull chain.
With my flashlight still off, I looked in the direction of the sound. Hundreds of feet away from me was a pinhole of light, swinging back and forth. "Is someone else here?" I asked myself. "Hello!?" I called out. Nothing. My echo (if I could even call it that) was long. Instead of hearing it at the speed I had called it, it came back as if it were slowed-down reverb in an audio file. "Eeeeeeelloooooooo?" It seemed to go on for what felt like hours. With this echo as my only response, I decided to go see this light. Worst-case scenario, I cross over into the afterlife, I figured. My perspective on worst-case scenarios has changed since then.
When I was about twenty-five feet away from the light, I started to make out an object under it. At about twenty feet, the object was sphere-shaped. Ten feet, I stopped. It was a person. No—a child. I continued cautiously. It was a child, no older than eight years old. I could see they were wearing Spider-Man pajamas. Their knees were pulled up, and their face rested on them. At about six feet, I could hear its soft sobbing. I'm a softy for kids, so in my best friendly-adult voice, I said as softly as I could, "Hey buddy, you okay?" The soft sobbing continued. "I'm here to help you. Are you lost?" The child turned its head. "Don't turn off the light, please."
I got closer. Poor kid. Probably came across an opening like me and got lost. "I'll help you get out of here. What's your name?"
"Please don't turn off the light. I'm scared of the dark. Please don't turn off the light."
I pulled out my flashlight. "Don't worry. I've got a flashlight here. See?" I clicked on the flashlight. Suddenly, the lightbulb above the child went out. The child started screaming—not with rage, but out of fear.
You know how when an older sibling freaks out a younger sibling? The sibling starts to inconsolably scream and panic, not realizing it's just the older sibling being a jerk? That was the scream this child bellowed. High and panicked. I would've covered my ears if the child hadn't started flailing around, looking for anything. I shined the light in its face to try and assure them there was light. Then I saw its eyes—or rather, the skin that grew over them. I could see its eyes frantically moving under the skin that covered them. Its flailing had no purpose behind its movements, only trying to grasp at something, anything. The flashlight was knocked out of my hand and went out. After a brief moment of total darkness, I heard the pull chain again, the bulb turned on, and the child, yet again, curled up completely still underneath.
After that, I just crawled as fast as I could. But the timer on my phone started buzzing and flashing. And the bulb that flickered back on went out again. Then the screams resumed, and I could hear the flailing body getting closer. I crawled as fast as I could. I could feel the child's fingers brush my ankles, only for me to pull away in time. My lungs bursting, my hands throbbing and bloody, I reached the panel in my backyard. I grabbed the wooden panel and jammed it over the opening. I held it there, anticipating the child to slam against it screaming. But instead, I heard another metal click. And stillness. I laid on my back, panting. Eventually, I regained my bearings, pulled out my phone, and called my friend.
"Hey, it's me. I'm safe. Just... winded."
"Dude, what?"
"I texted you. To contact authorities if you didn't hear back from me."
"Yeah, after twelve hours. You texted me like 15 minutes ago."
"What?"
I moved my phone so I could see the time. I had only been gone for five minutes? My friend hung up, thinking I was doing a lame joke. I picked myself up and went inside. I got a glass of water, gulped it down, hoping to wash out the musty wood taste. It didn't. I put my cup in the sink and sat down to take my shoes off. I realized the nylon rope tied to my waist—it was still there, but only about two and a half feet remained. It had been cut. Something—or someone—had wanted me to stay.
#entertainment
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​
For all the smart-asses reading this: yes, I'm sure it wasn't there before. I've lived in this house for over a decade. My backyard is about fifty feet long. There's a patio, a garage, and a Y-shaped yard with patches of grass and weeds.
Yesterday, while eating breakfast and looking out the kitchen sink window (I'm a sink-eater, sue me), I noticed a four-by-four white wooden panel standing in the middle of my yard. I keep a tidy yard, so after I finished eating, I put on some jeans, kept whatever T-shirt I slept in on, and went outside.
The panel was painted white. I could still see the wood grain texture. I was able to walk around it. From behind, the panel was invisible. I gave the front a tap with my foot. "Knock-knock" I went to where the back would be if visible and tapped it there. Moving the front of my foot forward, I felt nothing. But bringing it back, I could feel scraping wood around the skin of my foot. I yelped and pulled my shoe off. No splinters, but my big toe was raw and tender, despite wearing socks and shoes. Furthermore, I realized there were four flat-head screws holding the panel in place. I hadn't noticed them at first because they had been painted over. Seeing as it was a Saturday and I would just lounge about the house otherwise, I decided to further satisfy my own curiosity.
I went to my garage. I grabbed a screwdriver, flashlight, knee and elbow pads (thank God I grabbed those), and a backpack. I put two bottles of water, three protein bars, rope, and a pocket knife in it. I texted a friend that I was doing some urban exploring in my backyard and that if he hadn't heard from me in twelve hours, to alert the authorities of my disappearance. He responded with "K."
Before I tell you my first experience in the crawlspace, let me tell you something about myself. I am by no means adventurous. I am an overweight, 5'8", 33-year-old who was lucky enough to get into the housing market, only to buy a two-bedroom ranch house in the suburbs. I was never an Eagle Scout. I never joined Boy Scouts. I'm ready for a nap after just taking my trash to the curb after I get back from work. And yet—the moment I saw those screws, there was this overwhelming pull. Like I needed to get in there. Not like an emotional feeling, but a magnetic or animalistic curiosity. Maybe that's a feeling, but it wasn't natural; it was alien.
I took the screws out and removed the panel. The panel was about five centimeters deep. Honestly, I could have just smashed through. But I figured I should know what it's blocking before causing property damage. Behind the panel was darkness. A warm breeze emanating. It smelled of damp wood, musky, dusty, old wood. I clicked on my flashlight. Inside, it looked the way it smelled. From floor to top was only about three-and-a-half to four feet. There were wooden beams standing vertically, as if to support the structure. It stretched further than I could see. So I set a timer on my phone, crossed myself, and entered.
On my hands and knees, I crawled forward. I kept my flashlight in my mouth. Of all the things I've put in my mouth—0/10, never again. After crawling about fifteen minutes, I looked back. I had tied a white nylon rope to a vertical beam where I entered, just so I could retrace my steps. I could see the light of the opening beaming into the dark. It was kind of reassuring. Although it looked further than I thought I'd traveled. Out of curiosity, I wanted to see just how dark it was and how much light traveled in through that opening. Off it went.
Fear and dread soon gripped me.
You know how, as a kid, if you're scared you sleep with the door open and the hall light on? But then it's quiet and still. And as you drift to sleep, you imagine someone or something passing by, casting a brief shadow. That was what gripped me. I was frozen. Helpless. What pulled me out of it was the metallic click and jingle of a pull chain.
With my flashlight still off, I looked in the direction of the sound. Hundreds of feet away from me was a pinhole of light, swinging back and forth. "Is someone else here?" I asked myself. "Hello!?" I called out. Nothing. My echo (if I could even call it that) was long. Instead of hearing it at the speed I had called it, it came back as if it were slowed-down reverb in an audio file. "Eeeeeeelloooooooo?" It seemed to go on for what felt like hours. With this echo as my only response, I decided to go see this light. Worst-case scenario, I cross over into the afterlife, I figured. My perspective on worst-case scenarios has changed since then.
When I was about twenty-five feet away from the light, I started to make out an object under it. At about twenty feet, the object was sphere-shaped. Ten feet, I stopped. It was a person. No—a child. I continued cautiously. It was a child, no older than eight years old. I could see they were wearing Spider-Man pajamas. Their knees were pulled up, and their face rested on them. At about six feet, I could hear its soft sobbing. I'm a softy for kids, so in my best friendly-adult voice, I said as softly as I could, "Hey buddy, you okay?" The soft sobbing continued. "I'm here to help you. Are you lost?" The child turned its head. "Don't turn off the light, please."
I got closer. Poor kid. Probably came across an opening like me and got lost. "I'll help you get out of here. What's your name?"
"Please don't turn off the light. I'm scared of the dark. Please don't turn off the light."
I pulled out my flashlight. "Don't worry. I've got a flashlight here. See?" I clicked on the flashlight. Suddenly, the lightbulb above the child went out. The child started screaming—not with rage, but out of fear.
You know how when an older sibling freaks out a younger sibling? The sibling starts to inconsolably scream and panic, not realizing it's just the older sibling being a jerk? That was the scream this child bellowed. High and panicked. I would've covered my ears if the child hadn't started flailing around, looking for anything. I shined the light in its face to try and assure them there was light. Then I saw its eyes—or rather, the skin that grew over them. I could see its eyes frantically moving under the skin that covered them. Its flailing had no purpose behind its movements, only trying to grasp at something, anything. The flashlight was knocked out of my hand and went out. After a brief moment of total darkness, I heard the pull chain again, the bulb turned on, and the child, yet again, curled up completely still underneath.
After that, I just crawled as fast as I could. But the timer on my phone started buzzing and flashing. And the bulb that flickered back on went out again. Then the screams resumed, and I could hear the flailing body getting closer. I crawled as fast as I could. I could feel the child's fingers brush my ankles, only for me to pull away in time. My lungs bursting, my hands throbbing and bloody, I reached the panel in my backyard. I grabbed the wooden panel and jammed it over the opening. I held it there, anticipating the child to slam against it screaming. But instead, I heard another metal click. And stillness. I laid on my back, panting. Eventually, I regained my bearings, pulled out my phone, and called my friend.
"Hey, it's me. I'm safe. Just... winded."
"Dude, what?"
"I texted you. To contact authorities if you didn't hear back from me."
"Yeah, after twelve hours. You texted me like 15 minutes ago."
"What?"
I moved my phone so I could see the time. I had only been gone for five minutes? My friend hung up, thinking I was doing a lame joke. I picked myself up and went inside. I got a glass of water, gulped it down, hoping to wash out the musty wood taste. It didn't. I put my cup in the sink and sat down to take my shoes off. I realized the nylon rope tied to my waist—it was still there, but only about two and a half feet remained. It had been cut. Something—or someone—had wanted me to stay.
#entertainment
source
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