Footsteps Down The Stairs

I will never forget this for as long as I live... Ok. About a week ago, I was babysitting for my neighbors. It was around 11:00 pm. I was tired, but I wanted to wait for the baby's parents to come home, (at around 12:30.) I started watching a movie after I put the baby to sleep in her room. I started to have that strange feeling that I was being watched. I figured that it was my imagination again, so I ignored the feeling. Then I heard a loud thump. I ran up the stairs to see if the baby was all right, and of course, little Cassie was sound asleep in her crib. I stared off into space for a while. I didn't know what to do.

I had no idea where the sound came from, and I didn't want to go out of Cassie's room. I went over to the bedroom door and cracked it open. Nothing was there. I slowly made my way to the stairs. I crept down them, listening for anymore sounds, but nothing was heard. As soon as I got to the bottom, I went back to the couch. It was 11:35. I relaxed myself, and dozed off for twenty minutes.

When I woke up, I heard creaking. Now, I had been in this house before, and the only part of the house that creaked like that was the attic ladder. I was angry/horrified and I wanted to find out what was going on, and yet I wanted to get out of that house as soon as I could. I couldn't leave the baby. So, I walked back up the stairs, and over to the attic door. I grabbed a flashlight out of the drawer of the table in the hall. I pulled down the ladder. I looked and looked, and of course, nothing there. Then, I heard something. I slowly came down the ladder and walked toward the stairs.

As I got closer, the sounds became more clear. I stood at the top of the stairs, and realized that what I heard were footsteps. Coming up the stairs. I froze. I could feel something breathing in my face. Then, it grabbed my ankles and started dragging me toward the attic. I struggled, and when I was almost pulled up the ladder, the grip released, and I fell. I jumped up and ran toward the baby's room, but just as I was almost to the door, I was pushed from the right. Hard. Down the stairs. When it pushed me, I hit the stairs halfway down, and tumbled down from there.

The parents walked in and I was on the floor, a sharp pain in my left arm. The mother ran to me, and the father ran up to get the baby. I tried yelling for him not to go up there, but I was still shocked. I told them exactly what happened, and surprisingly, they believed me, (after a few minutes of questions and searching around the house.) They moved not too long after. If you find that you don't believe my story, fine. But I still have the bruises around my ankles, on my forehead, and my broken arm to remember it by.

Sent in by Emily