Horror by DoverHawk

The first night I heard the tapping was about three or four weeks ago. I can’t say for certain because it only happens at night, and I wasn’t at first even sure it was real because it would stop the moment I woke up. It seemed for a while that the tapping at my bedroom window existed only in the ethereal dimension between sleep and wakefulness - the point where you can remember your dreams so vividly but trying to hold onto them is like trying to hold water in your fist. There were three taps. All together - taptaptap. It could have been a tree, but there are no trees outside my bedroom window. It could have been a neighbor, but my bedroom is on the second floor. It could have been a bird or a large moth perhaps, but it was always three sets of three taps - succinct. Taptaptap. Taptaptap. Taptaptap. I would hear them in my sleep, and they would pull me from my dreams, but it would only be until the third taptaptap that I would actuall...

I was doing some summer cleaning the other night when I stumbled across an old box that I had almost forgotten about. It was a simple brown cardboard box with IMPORTANT STUFF written on the side in my mother’s handwriting in black marker. I had been sort of a packrat when I was little, and my mother had given me the box with the instruction that I would put anything that was important to me inside, and everything else had to be donated or thrown away. When I got older and had more stuff I wanted to keep, I would trade things out to make space, and what I was left with was a miscellany of things that had once been vitally important for one reason or another. It had been about ten years since I last opened the box, and as I shuffled through the memorabilia, I found layers of memories from my childhood that had long been forgotten. Most of it was old toys that I had outgrown but was too fond of to throw away or donate, but there was also a healthy helping of pictures, ...

Babysitting Instructions I just picked up a babysitting job on the east side of town.  I don’t want to use anyone’s real names for fear of repercussion, so for the sake of this post, we’ll call the girl whom I’m supposed to be babysitting Abby. I had my interview yesterday and immediately afterword, I was offered the job.  I didn’t even get to meet Abby before she handed me an offer letter. She insisted that I not read or sign the offer letter there, but instead take it home and consider the contents there, so that’s precisely what I did, and precisely why I’m posting this. I’ve typed the offer letter and posted it below. To Whom It May Concern: This letter is in response to your query about the babysitting position of Abigail Yates, age six.  If you have received this letter, you have met a series of undisclosed qualifications by the mother of Abigail: Miss Gwendolyn Yates. Signature of acknowledgement of the terms below is vital for em...

I just closed on a house this morning!  After years of saving and planning, my wife and I were finally able to get the money together for the down payment and closing costs that come with buying a house. Before I jump into my explanation of what happened to prompt me to write this, I want to make clear that nothing at all seemed out of the ordinary with the purchase of this house.  The price was decent, but not surprisingly by any means.  The inspection passed with only a few requirements for the seller to put a fresh coat of paint on the shed in the back and have the water heater replaced, and a few other minor things. While my wife and I were moving boxes in that first day, I happened to open the mailbox.  I’m not sure why I did it – for anyone who’s ever owned a house, you may understand the strange compulsion to open all the doors and explore all the nooks and crannies, so I opened the mailbox. Inside my new mailbox was a letter,...