Here we are in the middle of September, and that can mean only one thing: It's time once again for the next Creepy Sample's Offering.
Today's offering, called "The Cellar: A True Story," is taken from my
first book entitled "Tales of Dark Romance and Horror." This selection
however, is a bit different from my other pieces because it is a true
account of occurrences that took place in my childhood home once my
father, at my urging, revealed some terrifying family secrets to me.
Please keep in mind that what I relate in this story comes from a
child's perspective many years ago. Yet, I still believe that the things
described in this piece transpired as I relate them. You the reader,
can be the judge.
It was a dark and dreary night
Around the campfire bright
The captain said Antonio
Tell us your most fearful story
And Antonio, he began
I still remember the dreary afternoon upon
which I relentlessly pressed my father to reveal the secrets—to speak to
me of the unexplainable occurrences of which I had inkling.
“If I tell
you it will frighten you,” he would say.
“No! No it won’t scare me. I’m not afraid of that stuff.”
“It was a dark and dreary night…around the campfire bright…” he responded.
This process kept repeating itself; my frustration with it growing.
“It was a dark and dreary night…”
Why does he keep repeating that poem? I thought to myself, it doesn’t go anywhere!
“It was a dark and dreary night…around the campfire bright…”
“Why do you keep repeating that poem Dad? Can’t you just tell me?”
I listened to the stories as, one after the other, they spoke of things
more horrible than I had ever imagined. Perhaps they were horrible
because they were real. How could they not be? Had I not been relentless in pressing my dad to tell them? Had he not been reluctant to speak of them?
Where do I even begin to describe the horrors—the otherworldly phantoms
that assaulted me from some dark and forbidden place? How do I relate
the feeling one gets knowing that something kept walking up Aunt Elsie’s stairwell—that kept attempting to open her door—ALL NIGHT LONG!
Then there was the priest with a horse’s hoof instead of a foot—a
priest that was standing in a closet when someone tried to open the
As my father continued on with his telling of these tales, I
remained transfixed. I learned of the clock that no longer worked, yet
chimed just at midnight one Christmas Eve.
“Someone is going to
die within the next year,” it was proclaimed, and someone did. The
following Christmas Eve the non functional clock, as if arising from its
own death, struck twelve once again. That was when my great
grandfather, who had once lived in the same cellar that I was now
sitting in—that’s when he departed from this world.
and unnerving of all however, was the alarm clock. Oh yes, the alarm
clock. It wasn’t my alarm clock—the one that woke me for school most
mornings. No, it was the one of which my father spoke—the one that rang without being asked to—the one that also didn’t function! I didn’t know who that hellish clock belonged to or where it was
physically located, but I understood its power—ITS POWER TO TERRIFY! It
haunted me in my dreams—ringing and spinning—ringing and spinning on
some unknown ledge as it hurled its spine-tingling waves of terror at my
very soul. Still, even that repellent clock, with all the evil it could
cast, was not the worst of it.
Once I learned the secrets my
world changed. My nights alone—those nights when my folks would go out--
they became fearsome things. On those nights I would hear objects moving around in the darkness of the cellar. Something would slide;
there would be a crash. I intuited that the sounds came from the wooden
flats, upon which mason jars filled with nails, screws and washers
stood. These would slide and crash—slide and crash. Yet, whenever my
father next returned to his shop NOTHING WOULD BE OUT OF PLACE—NOTHIN
Well, that about does it for this week's selection. I hope you enjoyed
it, and if you'd like to learn more about this story or how to purchase
my books, please feel free to visit my website, which is listed on the
right, a bit closer to the top.
Until next time then, keep it spooky!
Photo Source: Gothic Pictures Gallery
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