It all began when after we moved into our new house. It was a great place with three bedrooms, a huge kitchen, a large family room, four bathrooms, and an attic room. I claimed the attic room the instant I set foot in the new place. My new room was rather large, with a huge vent about 6 feet where my bed was going to be. That didn’t phase me, as I loved the feeling of the air conditioning on my body. When we were settled, which took about two days, our huge Persian-Himalayan cat, Maude (I swear that cat weighed 15 pounds at her lightest), claimed my room as hers as well. These details will be relevant later.
The weirdness began when I’d wake up every morning and see that the vent was slightly open and Maude would be sitting at the foot of my bed, staring at the open vent, her tail twitching slightly. I didn’t think much of it at first, as the a/c had a ridiculously powerful fan that would send air blasting whenever it came on. But it happened every morning, the same scene greeting me every time I woke up. But, on one stormy night, my perspective on the whole thing changed. A particularly loud clap of thunder awoke me, and I reached to pet my cat for a little reassurance. But she wasn’t there. I turned and saw her standing, not sitting as she normally was, at the foot of my bed. Her tail was bushy and her back was arched. Suddenly, she jumped back, hissed, and bounded onto my chest. She then turned her head towards the vent and began snarling and growling, making those angry “mow, mow, mow,” noises. There was a huge flash of lightning, and I saw a tall, gangly looking figure looming over the bed. I only saw it for a split second before it disappeared into the vent. As soon as it disappeared, Maude became her usually sweet self again, rubbing her head on my cheek. I fell asleep after that, thinking it was just a weird nightmare . After that night, the vent was no longer open every morning, and I soon forgot that horrible night. But it didn’t end there.
Six years passed after that night, and the unusual happenings had ceased. But, I still had the feeling that I was being watched, so I shoved my dresser in front of the vent, and put all manner of heavy objects on top of it so that it would be impossible to move. I thought I was safe from this…thing invading my personal space. But I was wrong. VERY wrong. To quickly preface what I am about to write, I must create a little context. My father had bought some guns after a series of robberies shook the neighborhood. He gave me his double-barreled shotgun to use in case of a break-in. On that fateful night, I was lying awake in my bed, staring at the ceiling and counting the roofing nails. I was just about to drift off, when I heard a loud “THUD!” I jumped and sat up. “THUD!” There it was again! I could see our now old cat arching disappear under the bed. The noises became louder and closer together, and could see in the darkness that my dresser was shaking violently with every hit. I reached under my bed and grabbed my gun, holding it at the ready. The dresser then fell on its front with a loud “CRACK” and the vent fell with it. I heard a shuffling noise emerging from the vent, and I began to fumble for my lamp switch. I turned it on, and what I saw has haunted me to this day. There it stood, impossibly tall and thin, with long arms, legs and a thin, spiky tail. Its hands and feet sported claws that were at least a foot long. And its face. Oh, that horrible face! Its eyes were black, soulless, unblinking, and it seemed to be wearing another man’s mutilated face. It was grinning widely, revealing long, jagged teeth. It took a couple of steps toward me, its claws dragging on the floor. I jolted out of my fearful trance and aimed the shotgun at its head. The thing’s smile noticeably fell as it seemed to realize that its victim was not at all defenseless. It whipped around and slithered into vent, moving very quickly for something its size. I jumped off the bed and ran to the vent, aimed my gun, and pulled both triggers. The shotgun’s thunderous discharge reverberated throughout the house, followed by a noise that I can only describe as a roaring screech, high pitched, and yet also low in tone. That sound will stick with me for as long as I live. My parents came stampeding up the stairs, guns in hand, demanding to know just what in blue blazes was happening. I told them, but my dad just yelled at me for firing my gun in the house. I told him to shine a flashlight down the vent, and he begrudgingly complied. His face paled. I followed his gaze and saw that there was blood everywhere on the walls of the vent. The blood liquid wasn’t red, but a blackish-greenish-blue color. We looked out the window, and saw It limping down the street and into the woods at the end of the street. Needless to say, we all slept in a hotel that night.
It’s been five years since that incident, and even now, I still feel as though I am being watched. Strangely, I have moved across the state, and I still have that feeling. Maybe I should sleep with my gun tonight.