My mom still checks under the bed every night. After…
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My mom still checks under the bed every night. After hearing what happened in 1993, I understand why.
Hey all, my name is Ben, and I want to tell you a story my mother, Kat, used to tell me whenever I misbehaved, the story of what happened to her sister, Sharon.
Kat swore it really happened. The older I get, the more I believe her.
It was 1993, in rural New South Wales, Australia. Kat was twelve, living in an old house that looked nice but felt… wrong. Her family was about to move because the house was no longer suitable, or at least, that’s what her mother said. Kat suspected the truth: her strict, religious mother believed the house was evil. Something in it wanted to punish them.
From the moment they moved in, the house was alive. Whispers echoed in the halls. Windows tapped in the night. Floors creaked. Worst of all was the back room where Kat and Sharon slept, a room their mother always called “evil.”
Sharon, fourteen and rebellious, fought constantly with their mother. The fights seemed to awaken something. At night, Sharon would scream from nightmares, sometimes waking with scratches and bruises. Soon, Kat, her mother, and the other siblings began seeing things: shadows that didn’t belong, figures in corners, eyes that glowed in the dark. The house became a trap of fear and anger.
Her mother called a priest for a blessing. It made things worse. Figures appeared, restraining her mother, threatening the children, always demanding punishment. The attacks grew more violent as the moving day approached.
On the last night, Kat and Sharon were told to leave the bedroom door open. Sharon refused the top bunk; finally Kat gave in. The house was quiet. Too quiet. Then came the sound. A slimy, slithering noise, like something wet crawling across the floor. Sharon screamed.
Kat froze. Tentacle like shapes shot from under the bed, wrapping around Sharon’s ankles and wrists, trying to drag her under. Red eyes glowed from the darkness beneath. Her sisters sat paralyzed, unable to move. And then she heard it, a voice, cold and cruel, echoing in the room:
“You will be punished… and you will join the jewelry in the box. You are a despicable human who deserves to be punished!”
Kat screamed. The creature released Sharon, disappearing before their mother ran in and turned on the lights. But the fear lingered. Every shadow in the room felt alive. Every corner seemed to watch. Their mother led them outside to the car, but none of them slept that night. Somewhere, just outside the window, the figure watched.
The next morning, as the beds were being taken down, their mother found something under Kat and Sharon’s bed: a jewelry box. It hadn’t been there before. Old wood, like something from the 1950s, worn with age. Inside were necklaces, earrings, and a photograph. A man in a gray suit and a woman with a forced smile stared back. The man’s eyes… They followed them. The same figure from their nightmares. Their mother quickly closed it. Eventually, she sold it after moving.
My mother never understood what happened that last week. Was it the house? The jewelry box? Something else entirely? Whatever it was she still checks under her bed. Always. Because you never know who would need punishment next.
#entertainment
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Hey all, my name is Ben, and I want to tell you a story my mother, Kat, used to tell me whenever I misbehaved, the story of what happened to her sister, Sharon.
Kat swore it really happened. The older I get, the more I believe her.
It was 1993, in rural New South Wales, Australia. Kat was twelve, living in an old house that looked nice but felt… wrong. Her family was about to move because the house was no longer suitable, or at least, that’s what her mother said. Kat suspected the truth: her strict, religious mother believed the house was evil. Something in it wanted to punish them.
From the moment they moved in, the house was alive. Whispers echoed in the halls. Windows tapped in the night. Floors creaked. Worst of all was the back room where Kat and Sharon slept, a room their mother always called “evil.”
Sharon, fourteen and rebellious, fought constantly with their mother. The fights seemed to awaken something. At night, Sharon would scream from nightmares, sometimes waking with scratches and bruises. Soon, Kat, her mother, and the other siblings began seeing things: shadows that didn’t belong, figures in corners, eyes that glowed in the dark. The house became a trap of fear and anger.
Her mother called a priest for a blessing. It made things worse. Figures appeared, restraining her mother, threatening the children, always demanding punishment. The attacks grew more violent as the moving day approached.
On the last night, Kat and Sharon were told to leave the bedroom door open. Sharon refused the top bunk; finally Kat gave in. The house was quiet. Too quiet. Then came the sound. A slimy, slithering noise, like something wet crawling across the floor. Sharon screamed.
Kat froze. Tentacle like shapes shot from under the bed, wrapping around Sharon’s ankles and wrists, trying to drag her under. Red eyes glowed from the darkness beneath. Her sisters sat paralyzed, unable to move. And then she heard it, a voice, cold and cruel, echoing in the room:
“You will be punished… and you will join the jewelry in the box. You are a despicable human who deserves to be punished!”
Kat screamed. The creature released Sharon, disappearing before their mother ran in and turned on the lights. But the fear lingered. Every shadow in the room felt alive. Every corner seemed to watch. Their mother led them outside to the car, but none of them slept that night. Somewhere, just outside the window, the figure watched.
The next morning, as the beds were being taken down, their mother found something under Kat and Sharon’s bed: a jewelry box. It hadn’t been there before. Old wood, like something from the 1950s, worn with age. Inside were necklaces, earrings, and a photograph. A man in a gray suit and a woman with a forced smile stared back. The man’s eyes… They followed them. The same figure from their nightmares. Their mother quickly closed it. Eventually, she sold it after moving.
My mother never understood what happened that last week. Was it the house? The jewelry box? Something else entirely? Whatever it was she still checks under her bed. Always. Because you never know who would need punishment next.
#entertainment
source
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