It has always been an auspicious prospect for most children. A new house means new neighbors, a new yard, new friends, and a new school. A new house, for a boy of nine, means a new adventure. Well, at least until one has settled in.
My parents and I decided to move due to a few contentious issues that had arisen in our previous town. More precisely, I had begun to fight with the other children.
Each time I would be sent to detention, my parents then called, and I would give a disingenuous excuse as to why I had started it in the first place. Every time was akin to acting out a scene from a script. Each line would be repeated on cue, and each time I’d be grounded accordingly. I must concede that at the time I had no real reason for my behavior. At least, nothing beyond acting out for attention. Back then I was merely a child yearning for more attention from my overworked parents. I knew no better.
Unfortunately for me the doctor my parents took me to believed he had an answer to my disparate behavior.
“A.D.H.D. Or better known as Attention Deficit Hyperactive Disorder.” Or so the man explained.
I was then prescribed pills in which I had to take each morning before school. I ceased fighting and often slept during class, but my parents were grateful that they made looking after me less arduous.
Never the less I had already developed an indelible reputation with the other parents and was thus banned from everyone’s house. In other words, I had no friends anymore. I don’t think that this particular reason was behind my parents decision to move, but it was my best guess at the time.
My parents were middle class workers and therefore frugal when choosing the house. It was located out in the country with a rather luscious lawn almost endemic to the yard. The house itself was allocated in the center of this emerald grassland. Clearly it needed yard work, but to me it was a jungle of opportunities. I remember spending that first day hunting down insects and lizards as well as any other creature I would notice during my cursory scan of the overgrown yard.
The house itself was quaint and held no basement or upstairs floors. I had at least hoped for an attic, but was left despondent when I realized it was nothing more than a small insipid abode.
Our beds didn’t arrive for a few days, so until then I slept in my parent’s room. I must admit that I miss those innocuous nights. They were the only calm ones I had back then.
It wasn’t until a few nights after my bed arrived that I noticed the erratic sounds. They began quietly at first and I was able to ignore this enigma for the time being. I imagined it to be some creature living within the walls, perhaps a lizard or squirrel. It didn’t take long for them to become difficult to ignore however. The sounds became thumps, and on occasion I could swear I heard someone mumbling. With no reason to believe this enigma to be malevolent I continued to ignore them up until the footsteps.
At this point my room was still void beyond the single twin sized bed, the head of which leaned against the wall. The source of the steps seemed to originate at the far wall opposite of me. I remember huddling in my bed, uncertain of how I should handle this imbroglio. The footsteps were getting closer and seemed to be directed towards me, yet no other being was revealed as the culprit.
The thought of this invisible entity somehow taking hold of me was enough to find my voice.
The sound ceased as soon as my parents burst into the room. I promptly explained the noises and was about to mention the footsteps before they interrupted me. They blamed it on my lavish imagination. Said it was all in my head and repeated this in order to lull me into a sense of security. As a child I took their words to heart and let their explanations cocoon me in a blanket of ignorance.
I didn’t hear the sounds again that night, or for the next few nights and by the first day of school I had chalked it up to a bad dream.
I promptly took my morning pill and made my way to the bus stop. At the corner by the end of the road I met my first friend Tommy Sears. He was cool and welcomed me to the neighborhood. We sat next to each other on the bus and he introduced me to a few other kids. All in all it was a great first day. Once I got dropped off I asked where he lived in case we’d be able to play over the weekend. He pointed up the road to the right of where my new house was. His home was at least a mile away from my own, the view barred by the scattered plots of trees that littered the pastures and valleys.
I should probably explain that the neighborhood was not very close knit. Each house was a mile or so apart and obscured by farms, trees and pasture. His particular house was also hidden by a wall of forested patches.
We said our goodbyes and I mentioned my implicit friend to my parents who approved of my new social life. By that night I felt none of my inane fear from before. That didn’t last long.
The sounds started again, this time more prominent. The murmurs, though indecipherable, were louder. They fell silent once the thumping began. At first it had a rhythm that slowly arose into a cacophony of muted noise. Eventually the footsteps started again, once more directed towards me.
The joys of the day drained from my conscious mind as fear overtook me. I tried to remember what my parents convinced me of, that this was all simply part of my vivid imagination. However that didn’t work for long when a blood curdling scream pierced the darkness. I in turn screamed in unison, once more calling my parents.
Silence fell. It was as though my parent’s presence was enough to ‘scare’ whatever it was away.
I was explicit this time, recounting every sound I heard since the first night. However my insufferable parents refused to listen. Once more they tried to coo lies of ignorance. Once more they ignored my pleas.
Our conversation turned tumultuous. Eventually they threatened to ground me and left me alone in the darkness of my room. It was at that moment I had an epiphany. My parents couldn’t help me. No, they wouldn’t help me.
The next day at school I confided in my new friend. I didn’t originally plan to go into strict detail and began with a vague description of the sounds, ending my explanation with “But you know it could just be a squirrel or something living in the walls. We did just move in after all.”
I expected him to make fun of me, possibly agree with the animal theory. Instead, he looked serious.
“That’s exactly what the last kid was talking about.” Tom mumbled.
“Who?” I asked, excited to illicit a possible explanation yet fearful of what he may say.
Tom faced me with what looked like fear in his eyes. “I heard about a boy who used to live in that house years ago. He disappeared and his parents ended up moving away with his sister. Up until then though everyone said he complained about footsteps in his room.”
“Only in his room?”
“According to my sister, his room was the one on the opposite side of the house from the living room. She said she’d been there before when the county was renovating it.”
My blood ran cold. He was talking about my room.
I was afraid, but continued to question him for the rest of the lunch hour. By the time I arrived home I had come to a revelation.
A family of four had lived in the house before use. Their son used to have the same room as mine and complained about footsteps every night before he disappeared. Before that, people in town speculated that the house was haunted by the first owners who had been brutally murdered in that room one night.
Naturally I asked my parents, but they merely shrugged it off and refused to look into the matter. It was frustrating, yet understandable. They never even bothered to watch television let alone look into local rumors.
A few nights after that the sounds started again. They seemed rather irascible this time. I was frightened, but as I lay there in my bed, prepared for the footsteps I had come to expect, I resolved myself to not include my parents.
Just as expected the footsteps started. As they reached my bed once more I braced myself for some unknown force. Instead I heard another scream.
This one was just as blood curdling as the first time, yet higher pitched and guttural. I covered my ears to block it out, but it did little to help. Then suddenly it stopped, as though it were cut short.
I listened intently for any further sounds, but none came for the rest of the night.
After that experience I came to learn that this thing could not cause harm. Rather, it was just there to frighten me.
After a month I became immune to the sounds. I got a fan to drown out the quieter ones and would no longer bolt up in my bed at the screams. As expected my parents never heard any of it.
Another month and I had developed a bond with Tom. He and I would explore the fields, trade scary stories, and make theories about what the ghost wanted from me. He seemed intrigued by the supernatural and showed me what he called the ‘ghost truck’ at the edge of a nearby pasture. According to him it would drive away of its own accord on random nights and reappear with blood on its seats. None of this was proven, though we did talk about someday camping out in the pasture to spy on it to see if it moved. We never did.
Months went by. The sounds and the footsteps gradually began to decrease in frequency. Originally I’d hear them three to five times a week, but now they only occurred at random intervals. Not that I was complaining. None the less, I never let Tom spend the night. I only ever went to his place. My parents never questioned this.
After a year the sounds stopped altogether and my parents had finally saved up enough money so that they could opt to buy a new house. Needless to say I was relieved. We ended up moving to the other end of town. I’d have to ascertain a ride from Tom’s parents in order to visit him outside of school from now on, but that was fine by me.
Years have passed and I’ve all but forgotten about that room. Tom and I still get in touch. We’re currently both attending the same high school and every now and then drift back onto the subject of the supernatural. I plan on getting my own apartment once I’m old enough and have taken an interest in cars, television, and girls.
You may be wondering why I’ve bothered to tell any of this to you. Well, there’s a reason.
About a month ago the house was being prepped for another renovation. We had been moved out for years and my parents still never bothered to watch the news. I did. What I learned was disturbing.
Our old house has been closed to the public and is currently under investigation. It would seem that while the renovator’s were attempting to remove a supposedly dead animal from under the house they had stumbled upon a cellar that had been blocked off by a board disguised as part of the outer wall. This Cellar was small, but deep enough for standing room. Inside they found butcher knives, axes, hooks, gags, and a mass quantity of blood.
Upon further investigation I discovered that around the time I was living in that house there had been a large number of missing children from the nearby counties. The missing children’s reports went back to before I ever moved in and included a young boy around the same age who had once lived there.
Naturally I wanted to look further into this and asked Tom what he learned. Aside from the fact that the ‘ghost truck’ has been missing ever since the sounds in that room ceased, I learned something even more frightening.
The small cellar had been located just under my room.
30 Comments on 'Footsteps in the Bathroom'
great pasta, 10/10!
I love this
Okay. Two things:
1. Your lexicon of words is large and varied, which is cool, but something about this story screams, “I used thesaurus to find synonyms for different words!” At times, I felt like I was reading a flowery H. P. Lovecraft story, and that’s saying something. My advice to remedy this is to finish your story, go back and reread it. Ask yourself different questions such as, “Do I need to use this word here, or will something simpler get the point across and sound better?”
You don’t want to overload your readers with words.
2. You use a lot, and I mean a lot of adjectives and adverbs. Don’t feel the need to describe everything. Sometimes, less is better. Here’s a sample:
“The house itself was quaint and held no basement or upstairs floors. I had at least hoped for an attic, but was left despondent when I realized it was nothing more than a small insipid abode.
Our beds didn’t arrive for a few days, so until then I slept in my parent’s room. I must admit that I miss those innocuous nights. They were the only calm ones I had back then.”
You describe the house with quaint, small, and insipid within two sentences. You did not need to do this. In the second bit, you are a bit redundant. While innocuous and calm are not exactly synonyms, they are close enough that you could have left out the sentence with calm entirely.
Other than that, this story is nothing new – the plot is something I have read before and will read again in the future. It is well written, despite all of my little nitpicks, so there’s that.
I like the story, it did have some suspense to it. But the thing i dont understand is the title, it just has nothing to do with the story as i read it i was expecting to her mention of a bathroom. The story should be named ¨Footsteps in the Bedrrom¨
I agree with Tyga, the title made no sense and left me confused at the end when there was no mention of a bathroom at all…
Ohhhh it’s pretty realistic to me
This was an amazing story, however it does sound like you raped a thesaurus.
I, too, thought it came off like you used a thesaurus far too much. It came off like you were trying to sound like a good writer, but didnt actually know what the words you were using meant or how they should be used.
It was a good story but seemed to end abruptly. You went into a lot of details at the beginning of the story but then it seemed like you just gave up at the end.
Agree with above posters that it was a bit wordy, but THANK YOU for the decent editing! I’m an editor, and while I love Creepypastas, crappy editing makes some almost impossible to get through. If you changed the title and toned down the adjectives a bit, this would be fantastic.
i love this story.
I don’t understand why everyone’s saying he used “big words”. I could understand it fine. I’d understand if some of you are 12 but the words he uses should be normal for people who are over 15.
Anyways I loved it! Well written! Impeccable use of language 🙂
Cool, but if the footsteps were real how come the parents never heard them, or the screams at that matter…. and why did anyone ever pay attention to the ghost truck?
TheJettSet27 definitely has some valuable bits of advice for this piece. However, I would argue flowery language is fine. God knows some of our comments read like philosophical ponderings (case in point). My issue, rather, relates to how unnatural the narrator’s voice feels. Judging by his language, the narrator is either Lovecraft or a particularly stuffy English professor, not some adolescent. Or, if he is an adolescent, he must be a hoot at parties…
Other than that, I wish the story focused more closely on the horror element. Faux ADHD, busy parents, and Tom add some context, but they really do not contribute to the plot or the big reveal. They seem like awkward set pieces trying to justify the ghost in the room.
Less is more, as the clichė nags.
It’s not that he wasn’t understood. On the contrary, it was well written, it just sounded like there was too much effort put in. Decent story, thank you for sharing.
I liked the story. The plot is old, but the mc actually made it out just fine, so that was refreshing. I agree with the thesaurus statements, but regarding the other end of the spectrum, where people misuse and mispell words, try too hard, and focus on descriptive writing as opposed to actual plot, I’d rather see this. You’re a great writer and you’ll find a good medium one day. The usage shows that you actually care enough to revise and proofread. Take the criticism to heart, not to your head. 4/5
This had me intrigued from the very beginning, 10/10
Let me write this review in BULLETED FORM!!!
– First, (as others are saying) great vocabulary in this pasta! I am used to words stated OVER AND OVER AND OVER in a pasta, but you broke that tradition, and made it look good. 🙂
-Second, great pasta storywise. It has the twist ending (that merits a star in itself!!!) and a general creepiness throughout. Nice work.
-Third, there’s one negative (only one I swear!! and it’s tiny) to this pasta. I would change the title to “Footsteps in the BEDROOM” instead of “Footsteps in the BATHROOM” (or did I miss something that went down in the bathrom???)
Great pasta, kept me entertained. 5/5
Good story, but why the thesaurus??
I enjoyed it for the most part, although the beginning of the story was pretty slow, but the rest was solid and the twist gave it a very creepy effect, although left a lot of open holes. 7/10
Cool story, but I think you were overly descriptive and, as the others have already pointed out…you should probably ditch the thesaurus. Also, I’m a little confused about the title since there’s no bathroom mentioned in the story?
Dude–at least learn HOW to use a thesaurus if you think that is the only way to sound interesting or sophisticated. It is the mark of the amateur. You have ended up misusing so many words that I became suspicious in the first paragraph; I got about three more in and then gave up.
yeah it sounds like you repeatedly raped and molested a chained down thesaurus with 2 kid thesauruses, and with a pair of hedge clippers.
Gives me the chills very nice story.
Wow.So much assholes on one place…it is not a Pulitzer prize contest, you know that?Darksparx,I bet this single pasta you wrote is better then these shitty reviewers had written everything altogether in their whole useless lives(if they have had written anything at all)
This is very well written, but I agree with other comments people have left. Your vocabulary is quite admirable, I have a rather extensive vocabulary myself but I still had to guess some meanings by context. It took a little away from the story by forcing me to reread a few sentences to get the meaning. The story itself is a little cliché, but you tell it well and I like the “ghost truck” detail. 7/10 IMHO.
so the whole time it was just a lizard in the wall? that was the imbroglio?
this story was an auspicious cacophony of a disingenuous imbroglio.
i loved this story.. but i agree with the word thing that everyone else was saying.. the words seemed overly elegant for such basic surrounding words making it seem like you were using a thesaurus and the words arent already familiar to you..
HOWEVER — AS FOR THE ACTUAL STORY AT HAND.
fk yes.. so good .. so creepy. i loved it.