Just bought my childhood house 4 - Sick (Archive)

The night I posted the last update, I went to bed aching with a fever. I've been running it basically ever since. I feel absolutely awful. Everything aches. I've got a couple of kanker sores too. Didn't stop me from doing things, but made it a little more difficult. Don't try to scare me with radiation poisoning, by the way, I have a geiger counter coming but until then the last thing I need is to be freaking out about that.

The previous owner got in touch with me, first off. She was very nice, answered all my questions.

She and her husband grew up in the area (they're the age my parents would be, maybe older) and I guess the family that built this place was kind of notorious for being pretty weird. They stayed at home basically constantly, no one seemed to work outside the house and they didn't talk much except amongst themselves. Someone spread a rumor once that the girls- the last kids who lived there- had made some comments about being expected to be at home all the time. That they were 'in charge' of it, and that they weren't allowed to leave for too long in case something happened. We talked a little more but that's basically the only useful information I got from her aside from her apologizing for my mother's death. Turns out she HAD met them a few times in the course of the sale, and really liked them. I thanked her and said that I was just happy to be back in my house. She said she was sure my dad would be very happy for me, and I said I was sure he would too.

My dad has been on my mind a lot lately. Probably with good reason. He lied to me.

While I was super sick, I wasn't able to do much except lie in bed and suffer. But I had a lot of time to think, and maybe you guys will have already put this together but I guess I'm stupid and it took me longer. Mostly I thought about the Christmas lights. Remember that piece I found last time I went down? Well, as soon as I could physically drag myself up to the attic, I found the string I'd used and checked the end of it. It was frayed. Like it had been broken at some point. I don't know how it still worked and frankly it doesn't really matter. I can say with almost 100% certainty that they matched. I didn't bring the piece up with me, but you can bet I'll do it next time. And if it's true, that means those lights have been down there before. Which means I'm not the first person in there. And the only person I can think of who WOULD have been- in my family anyway- is my dad.

I mentioned before that my dad had gotten PISSED the day he caught me and my brother fucking around with the entrance. I can't remember what we were doing exactly but it involved crawling around in the corners looking for stuff, probably change we thought we might find or something. I found it first, and I got my brother to try and help me open it, but it was glued shut. We were in the process of trying to use a ruler we found to pry part of it up when Dad caught us. He didn't just scream at us, I remember that now. He actually dragged our asses downstairs and threatened to ban us from the upstairs if we ever did that again. This was after he'd lost his job, and had started acting so much more hostile than he had before. It was a complete overreaction that I chalked up to him being stressed about work.

But what if he wasn't? What if he KNEW there was something down there and didn't want us to find it? It makes sense that he'd use the lights to go explore down there, and why I found that flashlight so easily. Did something attack him while he was down there? What happened that scared him so bad he yelled at us like that? What if that's why he lost his job? Like it sounds ridiculous but if he was so stressed about the tunnel that he stopped working well and lost his job? What sucks is that I have NO way to verify any of it. It's not like I can just ask him.

Later that same night that he caught us, I noticed my hands were sticky. At the time I didn't connect the two things but now I'm almost positive they were connected. That glue was fresh, around the door. He had to have resealed it. And he wouldn't have had to do that unless he'd opened it himself in the first place. What the fuck was going on? How much did he know?

I felt well enough this morning to go back down for a bit. I've been feeling really hot so it actually felt pretty nice down there. The pressure change was hell on my ears but once you get down inside it it's not bad. And yes, I went alone. If there's anything in there that could hurt me I don't want my friend being involved. It's not his fault my house is completely fucked. I didn't go far enough to find the light segment, I was too exhausted, but I got to the first room and just sort of sat in there listening. Guys, I cannot even stress how cold it is down there. The stone or concrete or whatever the place is made of is like sitting on ice. There's also a weird feeling to the place that's harder to explain. It's like, you know when you're in a tall building you're aware that you're high up? It's sort of like that. Like there's all this space under me. God willing I can go down farther soon and finally see where it leads to.

It's so quiet down there. Just sitting in there, made me think of another memory.

Like I said before, Dad lost his job and started to change. Got much more angry with us, much more hostile toward Mom, etc. If he knew what was under our house, he probably hated himself for moving us there and endangering us. Then Mom got sick. And he was SO totally different. Always hovering around her and making sure she was okay. Sometimes it felt a little different than that, though. Like he KNEW what was happening to her and felt... guilty? I don't know.

One day, when the chemo was getting stronger and she was feeling really bad, I got a call from him at school, which was weird because he wasn't the type to do that. I asked him what was up, and he said, 'well I just need to know what it is your mother is asking for.' That's exactly how he said it too, 'your mother'. The guy was absolutely out of it from worrying and staying up so late every night. I said sure, okay, what did he need? And he asked me, 'she keeps talking about Scooter, how she wishes Scooter was around. What is she talking about?' Well that just about made my heart stop. Scooter is the nickname she gave me when I was really little because I didn't learn to crawl right, I'd just scoot around on my butt everywhere. He KNEW that. That's when I really started to think that something was wrong, that maybe he was getting sick too. How could he forget something like that?

My plan for my next trip down is this: I'll bring the geiger counter, which is coming today. I'm also bringing a pen and paper so I can sketch out the room, and a level to see if anything is sloped. I'll bring a thermometer, some food, and water. I'm gonna figure this thing out. I am NOT going to sit around like my dad did and pretend it doesn't exist.

Maybe that original family knew it to. Maybe they felt like they had to protect everyone from getting hurt. I guess maybe that's why they all died out. Maybe they got tired of having to sit around in a fucked up house. Or maybe the stress killed them. I don't know.

I feel so fucking sick. The inside of my mouth is starting to peel.

I'm really starting to regret buying this house.