The Basement Static

I’m not entirely sure if what I heard was real, but I’ll let you decide. This happened last Saturday, the 28th of March, during a long weekend I had taken for a tech conference that got postponed due to the pandemic. My time off started Thursday and ran through Monday. That Thursday night, I couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t anxiety about the world; it was a pervasive wrongness, a feeling like someone was watching me from the closet, and I ended up sleeping with the nightlight on, just to feel safe.

Saturday night, I was up late playing a VR game, lost in a neon world, when around 2:45 a.m., I heard a low, guttural groan right outside my door. I had closed the door to keep the sound from my two roommates, but this noise was not from them; it was like something heavy and wet was being dragged across the carpet. I paused the game, yanking off the headset, and the sound stopped. My heart hammered. I sat there, listening, but heard nothing else. I chalked it up to the old pipes in this apartment building, but then a faint static crackle started, like from an old TV, coming from the hallway.

Now, if you’ve read my previous post about this building, you know about the incident in the basement laundry room and the weird image on my phone from that ’90s horror flick. It felt like that entity, whatever it was, had followed me. The static grew louder, and I heard a child’s voice, thin and reedy, whispering, ‘Let me in.’ I didn’t move. The whisper repeated, then turned into a harsh, buzzing sound that pierced my ears. I grabbed my phone, shakily, to check the time, and the screen flickered, showing a distorted reflection of my own face twisted into a scream.

Then the buzzing stopped, and the hallway went dead quiet. But I could feel something on the other side of that door, breathing. I crept closer, my hand on the knob, and pressed my ear to the wood. A low, throaty chuckle, then the sound of nails dragging down the door. I stumbled back, and the door rattled in its frame. A voice, old and cracked, said, ‘You’re home.’

I lost it. I screamed, and my roommates banged on the walls, shouting for me to shut up. The noise ceased instantly. I opened the door, just a crack, and looked out. The hallway was empty, but the door to the basement at the end of the hall was wide open, and from within, I saw a faint, flickering light, the static hiss emanating from the darkness below. I slammed my door and locked it, then spent the rest of the night on my bed, lights on, hearing nothing but the hum of the refrigerator.

When morning came, I checked the hallway. The basement door was closed, and there was a faint, greasy smear on my door, like something had been pressed against it. I told my roommates, but they said I was just stressed. I don’t know. I’m not sure if it was real, but I’m seriously considering moving out. That static, that voice—it hasn’t left my head. And tonight, I can hear it again, faintly, from the vents. I think it’s waiting for me to sleep.