“4 years ago, my now husband and I moved into a really old house. In Saskatoon, this area was the first in the whole city to be built. The house is approximately from 1910. The area itself is now quite ghetto. Crack houses down the street, break and enters happening constantly. So, being on edge, my husband and I bought a huge black lab. Dumb as a post, but super loyal and protective. We never got broken into after we got our dog because he had such a loud bark, people outside would cross the street.
Back to the house itself, the house had original vents (like Amityville Horror style) Downstairs there was cement walls, all except for one, which was dirt in behind a large piece of Styrofoam. So when there was a shift in the ground, you could literally hear the dirt crumbling. There was a terrifying room that no one would go into in the basement. It had old paint cans and a kitty litter box from, what I can assume, was years ago. Original furniture remained in the basement and throughout the house. (Ex. Old hide-a-bed, old curio cabinet, and fucking old armoire)
This story revolves around the armoire, which was huge. It had such fine wood detailing, but it was neglected. We never opened it because it was such a creepy antique. We just kind of left it in the hallway and walked by it daily.
One day, on my day off of course, I was waiting for my husband to get home. I started walking towards the door because I thought I heard his car. While walking, I was suddenly interrupted by a horrendous racket. Coming from inside the armoire was a horrible scratching noise. I thought Onyx, our dumb, lovable black lab, had somehow climbed in and was stuck. Frantically kicked and rolling and scratching to get out. It was so frantic, the armoire was literally moving across the floor. At first I was laughing, but the more frantic it got, the more my concern grew.
I ran and threw open the door, I heard a whimper. Rather than the whimper coming from the armoire, it came from behind me. I swirled around and saw Onyx behind me. He was whimpering and back away. I swung around and faced the armoire, completely shadowed on the inside. The scratching stopped. I ran for the porch door, passing the antique.
I didn’t get very far, I ran into a solid entity. My husband. Sobbing and fearful I sputtered what happened. My husband stared at me and then, being the awesome guy he is, checked it out.
Nothing was in the armoire. Literally. Nothing. No scratch marks, no smell but musty. It was terrifying. We moved out a couple months later.”
By: tellie (As it’s nearly Halloween, how about we share some creepy stories? I’ll go first.)
